I was in 8th grade when I found out the world was broken. The Columbine High School Massacre shook a nation, and it shook me, too.

Sure, growing up in Texas, I had been vaguely aware of the 1993 Waco Siege and a bit more aware of the Oklahoma City Bombing since it provoked a moment of silence before one of my 10U softball games.

But when you’re 14 and your conversion to Christ is less than a year old, the martyrdom of would-be peers like Cassie Bernall and Rachel Scott tends to leave an imprint.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Yes, I do.”

Bang.

Just a few years later, the world broke again.

It was September 11, 2001, and I had just walked into my Junior English class. There was a bit of a commotion and a student turned on the TV in the upper corner of the room, opposite the door, so I had a perfect view as I walked in. There was a tall building with smoke coming out of it. We watched with confusion, incredulity, and horror as a second plane ran into the other tower on live TV.

A girl in one of my classes shrieked that her dad was flying that day. She was a wreck until she found out he wasn’t on one of those planes.

Our US government test was canceled that afternoon. Instead, we watched and discussed history in the making, with room for questions, grief, and silence.

Just as my 14 year old self took courage from the stories of students who lost their lives at Columbine, I also followed stories of heroism from 9/11. Of particular note was Christian husband and father Tod Beamer. He was one of the men who left the illusory safety of his passenger seat to fight his plane’s hijacker. This is the plane that crashed in a field rather than, say, the White House. His widowed wife tells the story in the book Let’s Roll.

These are the moments and stories we never forget.

You remember the images. You remember where you were standing when the news broke and your world broke with it.

Today’s remembrance of 9/11 follows in the fresh wake of another world-breaking moment.

I won’t soon forget where I was standing yesterday afternoon when Charlie Kirk was murdered. I was in the kitchen, about to process some chicken and prepare enchiladas for our church’s youth who would arrive at our house in a few hours. I picked up my phone to check Instagram, and at the top of my feed was a simple text post from Allie Beth Stuckey announcing the shooting and pleading for prayer.

My first thought was, “Oh, God. Not Charlie Kirk.” You might have expected political violence against some of the more abrasive and loud-mouthed conservative figures. But Charlie was a devout Christian, outspoken but incredibly patient and willing to engage in dialog with anyone. “Not Charlie.”

Tears and many prayers followed.

Prayers and tears while cooking taco meat and rolling enchiladas. I asked the boys to put on a good album of Christian music while they cleaned and I cooked. I hadn’t told them yet. Still processing the event and food and prayer after prayer after prayer.

But when the report came out that Charlie had died, and the boys could likely see that something had been eating at me or at least had me distracted, I finally told them. Right there in the kitchen, standing next to the kitchen table.

The words didn’t come easily. But they came. So did the stunned faces, the look of shock and sadness.

Yesterday my 8th grader found out the world was broken, if he didn’t know that already.

Because yesterday a good man got shot for speaking truth. It’s the same thing that happened to Cassie Bernall and Rachel Scott, just on a grander and more sophisticated scale.

Promote free speech and civil discourse by living it.

Clearly articulate conservative moral and political views.

Speak up for the unborn.

Promote biblical marriage and family life.

Unashamedly proclaim the gospel.

Bang.

A young woman widowed. Two precious children left without a father. A nation of young people touched by the violence against a man who touched their lives.

What are we to do? There’s anger, there’s grief. What does the Scripture say?

Be angry and yet do not sin.

Weep with those who weep.

Pray for the widow and orphan.

Pray for those who persecute you.

Speak the truth in love.

Do not be ashamed of the gospel: the world is broken, and we know the only Healer.

Yes, we can do that. By the grace of God, we can do all of that. I can encourage my sons in that.

But I’m also thankful that I had responsibilities to feed other people yesterday evening. To pull me away from the news updates, the doom scrolling, the negative spiral and back into the physical world of embodied service and life in community.

We welcomed our friends last night, shared a meal, read and reflected on the Sermon on the Mount, prayed with our teens, and then as parents and leaders, prayed for our teens. What a healing balm on such a tragic day. We just did the usual thing, nothing loud and fancy—we gathered as believers in Christ, practicing the ordinary means of grace.

And I think that’s where I’ll leave this. Where do we go from here? We go to the Word and all of the most basic Christian disciplines—both in our solitude and in community. We run to Jesus, pleading that He might produce the fruit of His Spirit in us. And we go about our ordinary, everyday obedience to Christ, rolling up our sleeves and our enchiladas, refusing to abandon our post, refusing to shy away from the hard conversations, refusing to compromise the truth, prayerful and Christ-exalting in all of it.

And maybe, just maybe, instead of being more afraid because of yesterday’s events, we’ll do it all with even more courage and boldness because of Charlie Kirk’s example.

“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” —Tertullian

Some are called to serve Christ on the front lines by reaching young people on college campuses. And some of us are called to serve Christ on the front lines by raising our own young people before they land on a college campus.

So to the mamas out there: Hold the line. Make that meal. Arrange those flowers. Love your husband. Love your children. Call that friend. Provide the physical sustenance that brings people together for fellowship around the spiritual sustenance of the Word of God.

And pray for Erika Kirk as she seeks to do the same—without Charlie by her side.