There are some voices you don’t just hear—you feel them. For me, Charlie Kirk was one of those. What drew me most wasn’t only what he believed, but how he showed up for it: with courage in his faith, a love for this country, and a willingness to let people speak—even the ones who came to argue. That mix matters. It reminds the rest of us that conviction and conversation don’t have to be enemies; in the right hands, they can sharpen each other.
On September 10, 2025, Charlie’s life was taken during an event at Utah Valley University in Orem, Utah. He was 31. The news hit hard—not just because a young husband and father was gone, but because the way he lived pointed to something bigger: that faith can be bold, that free speech is worth the mess, and that courage doesn’t hide when things get loud.
The courage that looked like faith
Charlie didn’t pretend neutrality. He stood for God openly. He prayed openly. He spoke out of a worldview he didn’t try to water down for applause. Agree with him or not, that kind of clarity is rare. It’s easier to play it safe, to shave off the hard edges, to keep your faith private so no one pushes back. He didn’t. That took guts—and it challenged the rest of us to live our beliefs in daylight.
A table where everybody could talk
What I respected most was the space he made for debate. He’d hand the mic to the person who disagreed and let them go first. Sometimes it got heated; sometimes it was beautiful. But he kept making room. The point wasn’t to humiliate anyone—it was to prove we can still meet in public, with reasons and words, not fists and fear. In a time when so much feels like shouting past each other, he kept inviting people to talk to each other.
God and country, side by side
Charlie loved America the way you love family—honest about the flaws, grateful for the gifts, believing that what’s broken can be repaired. He saw faith as the well the country could keep drawing from: virtue, responsibility, truth-telling, neighbor-love. None of that is trendy. All of it is necessary.
What his death asks of us
When a voice like his is silenced, the easy reaction is either rage or retreat. I’m asking something different of myself:
Listen first. If someone shows up to challenge you, let them finish their sentence. Argue fair. Steelman the other side. Don’t twist. Don’t dunk. Seek the strongest version of what they mean. Show your work. Bring receipts. Read things you disagree with. Quote carefully. Pray bold. If you believe, pray like God still changes hearts—including your own. Build local. Mentor a student. Start a small group. Host a civil forum at your church or community center. Do the work ten feet from your front door.
The legacy I’ll carry
I’ll remember Charlie as a man who didn’t hide his faith, didn’t flinch from hard conversations, and didn’t treat opponents like enemies. If we want to honor that, we don’t do it by fighting dirtier—we do it by standing taller. More courage, more clarity, more invitation to speak. That’s how a culture changes: one public square, one open mic, one brave conversation at a time.
A short prayer:
“Lord, teach us to be courageous without cruelty, faithful without fear, and truthful without pride. Heal our country. Guard our words. Make our public squares places of light. Amen.”
—Josh Bridges
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YOU {R} NOT ALONE YOU HAVE A VOICE! 