There are certain dates that don’t need an explanation. You hear them, and you remember exactly where you were, who you were with, and what you were doing when you realized something terrible had happened.
September 11th is one of those dates.
Today marks 25 years since September 11th, 2001. And this year, September 11th feels different to me because it comes just one day after another date that I suspect an entirely different generation will never forget.
September 10th.
Yesterday marked one year since Charlie Kirk was assassinated while speaking at Utah Valley University.
Two dates, September 10th and September 11th, separated by 24 years. Two very different tragedies. But I can’t look at those two dates sitting beside each other on the calendar without thinking about the generations that will forever be shaped by them—and about what we choose to do after history changes us.
The Girl I Was on September 11th, 2001
On September 11th, 2001, I was 22 years old. I was a “super senior” in college, wasn’t even registered to vote, and certainly wasn’t someone anyone would have described as a patriot.
I remember watching television with my roommates. I remember seeing the second plane hit the Twin Towers and feeling completely stunned and strangely disoriented. It was that feeling you get when you know you’re watching something enormous unfold but don’t yet have the ability to comprehend what it means.
My world was pretty small back then. Classes. Friends. Graduation. Figuring out what I was going to do with my life. I had no idea that I was watching a moment that would change the trajectory of our country.
Nearly 3,000 people went to work, boarded airplanes, reported for duty, or simply began an ordinary Tuesday morning and never came home. Firefighters ran up stairwells while everyone else was trying to get down. Police officers and first responders ran toward devastation. And aboard Flight 93, ordinary Americans learned what was happening elsewhere and made an extraordinary decision: they fought back.
That flight crashed here in Pennsylvania rather than reaching its intended target.
Twenty-five years later, I understand something about that day that the 22-year-old version of me couldn’t possibly have understood.
History doesn’t always announce itself as history.
Sometimes you’re simply standing in your living room watching television, and suddenly the world is different.
Then Came September 10th
Twenty-four years later, another generation experienced one of those moments.
On September 10th, 2025, Charlie Kirk was shot and killed while speaking on a college campus. He was 31 years old—a husband, a father, and one of the most recognizable political voices in America for an entire generation of young people.
Whatever someone thought of Charlie’s politics, his assassination was something much bigger than politics. A man was killed while participating in the public exchange of ideas. And millions of young Americans watched the aftermath unfold through the tiny screens they carry in their hands.
That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.
My generation watched September 11th on televisions in dorm rooms, offices, classrooms, and living rooms. This generation experienced September 10th through phones, social media feeds, and videos that traveled around the world almost instantaneously.
Different generations. Different circumstances. Different tragedies.
But that same awful realization:
Something has changed.
What Happens After the Shock?
I’ve been thinking a lot about the 22-year-old girl sitting in that college apartment in 2001. She had absolutely no idea where her life would eventually lead.
She didn’t know that one day she would care deeply about the Constitution. She didn’t know she would become involved in election integrity, teach people about citizenship, mentor grassroots leaders, or spend her days encouraging ordinary Americans to get off the sidelines and participate in their Republic.
She didn’t even vote.
But looking backward, I can see something I couldn’t see then. Seeds were being planted. Questions were beginning. Something inside me was slowly awakening to the reality that the country I lived in wasn’t something I could simply take for granted.
And maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking so much about young Americans this week.
Because somewhere in America right now is another 22-year-old. Or an 18-year-old. Or a 16-year-old. Someone who watched what happened to Charlie Kirk and felt something shift.
Maybe they don’t have words for it yet. Maybe they aren’t political. Maybe they’ve never read the Constitution or attended a city council meeting. Maybe they couldn’t tell you who their state representative is. Maybe they think they’re too young, too inexperienced, or too ordinary to make any meaningful difference.
I would tell them something very simple:
So was I.
Tragedy Can Change Us. But We Decide How.
There is a danger in moments like these. Grief can become anger. Anger can become hatred. Hatred can convince us that the people who disagree with us are enemies rather than fellow citizens. And once we begin dehumanizing one another, violence becomes easier to justify.
That cannot be the lesson we take from either of these days.
We don’t honor the dead by becoming consumed with hatred. We honor them by deciding what kind of people we will become because they lived.
September 11th gave us countless examples of courage. People carried strangers. First responders climbed burning buildings. Americans stood in blood-donation lines. Neighbors checked on neighbors. Churches filled. Flags appeared on front porches.
For a brief moment, we remembered that beneath all of our differences, we belonged to one another.
I wonder sometimes whether we have forgotten that. And maybe remembering is one of the most important things we can do today.
Your Life Doesn’t Have to Be Political to Matter
When I encourage people to get involved, I don’t mean everyone needs to run for office. In fact, most won’t.
Getting involved can mean learning what your local government actually does. It can mean attending a school board meeting, teaching your children American history, reading the Constitution for the first time, serving your community, helping a neighbor, volunteering, mentoring a young person, registering to vote, or having a conversation with someone who disagrees with you without treating them like an enemy.
It can mean standing up when something is wrong. Asking questions. Seeking truth. Praying for our country. Refusing to surrender your responsibility to somebody else because you assume you’re not important enough to make a difference.
That may be the greatest lesson my own life has taught me.
You have no idea what God might do with your willingness to simply take the first step.
Twenty-Five Years Later
Twenty-five years ago today, I watched history happen. I didn’t know what to do with it, and I certainly didn’t imagine that someday I would look back and recognize September 11 as one of the many moments that slowly changed the way I understood my country and my responsibility to it.
Yesterday, another generation remembered a tragedy of its own.
And today I find myself thinking about all the young people watching us. What will they learn from this moment? Will they learn to hate? Will they learn to fear? Will they decide that public life is too dangerous, too ugly, and too divided to enter?
Or will they decide that their voices matter? That ideas are worth discussing. That freedom is worth protecting. That citizenship carries responsibilities. That courage sometimes means showing up when it would be easier to stay home.
I can’t answer that question for them.
But I can answer it for myself.
Never Forget
“Never Forget” has been our promise for 25 years. But remembering can’t simply mean recalling where we were when the towers fell.
Remembering should change how we live.
Today, I remember the 2,977 lives taken on September 11, 2001. I remember the firefighters, police officers, first responders, and ordinary citizens who demonstrated extraordinary courage. I remember the passengers of Flight 93 who fought back over the Pennsylvania countryside.
And one day after the anniversary of Charlie Kirk’s assassination, I remember a husband and father whose life ended while engaging young Americans in the battle of ideas.
Two September days. Two generations marked by tragedy. And one question that every generation eventually has to answer:
What will we do with the time we’ve been given?
Twenty-five years ago, I was sitting on the sidelines. I’m not anymore.
And if you’re reading this wondering whether one ordinary person can really make a difference, take it from the 22-year-old girl who wasn’t even registered to vote:
You have absolutely no idea where one decision to get involved might lead.
So remember. Mourn. Pray. Love your neighbor. Learn. Speak. Serve.
And when the moment comes that asks something of you—don’t stay on the sidelines.