The Courage of a Calling

By Bobbie Daniel

Twelve years ago, I made my first trip to Washington, D.C. I was expecting my third child at the time, and as I walked through the memorials, the words carved in stone seemed to speak directly to me. At the Jefferson Memorial, I knew I wasn’t alone. At the Lincoln Memorial, I sensed the weight of a calling I couldn’t yet name. 

Their words reached across centuries with clarity and conviction, and I remember thinking: people don’t talk like this anymore. Yet something in my soul stirred. God was preparing me, though I didn’t yet know for what.

In scripture, the callings of ordinary people are always marked by courage. Moses had to confront Pharaoh with only a staff in his hand. Esther risked her life to plead for her people “for such a time as this.” Paul risked everything to preach the gospel. They were not perfect, not fearless, but they were willing to do the one thing God asked of them: keep going.

That is the heart of a calling — courage. The courage to keep speaking truth. The courage to keep seeking God’s face. The courage to fight for what is right when others give in to what is easy. The courage to see the difference between good and evil and to say out loud what others would rather keep quiet. And the courage to put one foot in front of the other, even when the road is lonely.

This week, as I returned to D.C., I felt the peace that comes from knowing God has been faithful in my own calling. I walked into meetings at the White House, the Department of Interior, and the Department of Transportation without the nervousness I once felt, because God has already done the hard work of shaping me. He rounded out my weaknesses, silenced my doubts, and pieced together what I could not. His grace was enough.

That peace carried me—until my phone buzzed with the devastating news that Charlie Kirk had been assassinated on a college campus in Utah.

Charlie lived his calling with courage. At just twenty years old, he launched an organization from his garage that would go on to reach millions of students. He walked onto campuses where he was shouted down, mocked, and attacked, and he kept coming back. He debated instead of tearing down. He persuaded instead of intimidating. He inspired instead of silencing.

He understood something simple but profound: if truth is not spoken, lies will fill the silence. So he spoke — boldly, effectively, and with conviction. That courage is why his enemies feared him. They could not defeat his arguments, so they struck at the man.

Jesus said in John 10:10: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” On that day, the thief stole from a wife and two small children the husband and father they loved. He stole from a generation of students the leader who gave them a voice. But he could not steal Charlie’s calling. That will live on in every young person he encouraged to be bold.

As a mother, I grieve for his wife, Erika, and their children. There will be empty chairs, unfinished plans, and the ache of absence. And yet, I also cling to Paul’s words in Romans 12:21: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” That is the calling for each of us.

Charlie’s courage reminds me that callings always cost something. Sometimes they cost friends. Sometimes they cost comfort. And sometimes, as in Charlie’s case, they cost everything. But his example also reminds us that courage is contagious. One life lived with conviction can inspire countless others to stand.

Charlie had an amazing vision — a God-given calling — to reach young people who were hungry for direction, for meaning, for truth. He saw what many in our culture missed: a whole generation yearning for something solid to stand on. He gave them that. He reminded them that liberty is worth defending, that truth is worth speaking, that faith is worth living. And he didn’t just preach it — he lived it. He lived it in the blessing of a beautiful marriage, in the joy of raising children, in the courage of saying what needed to be said no matter the cost.

That is what a calling does. God takes your weaknesses and rounds them out. He takes your fears and silences them. He takes the broken pieces and fits them together into something whole. I’ve seen Him do it in my own life. He did it in Charlie’s life. And He can do it in our country’s life, even in the ashes of grief and division.

There is so much beauty, even in loss, because there is hope. The very fact that we recoil at evil — that it disgusts us so deeply — means something. It means we still know the difference between right and wrong, between darkness and light. And that knowledge is the beginning of renewal.

So let us choose courage. The courage to keep speaking truth, even when it is unpopular. The courage to keep seeking God’s wisdom in a noisy world. The courage to fight for what is good, no matter the cost. The courage to look evil in the eye and still believe that good will prevail. And the courage to get up each morning, put one foot in front of the other, and keep going.

Charlie Kirk will not return to tuck his children into bed. But his fight was never in vain. His courage is now ours to carry. We honor him by living boldly in our own callings, by loving deeply, and by remembering that darkness never has the last word.

Bobbie Daniel is the Mesa County Commissioner for District 2 in Western Colorado. Raised in Palisade and born to a hairdresser and coal miner, she brings a working-class perspective shaped by small business ownership, public service through AmeriCorps and decades of community involvement. Daniel has served on numerous local boards and advocates for local solutions, individual liberties and policies that strengthen families and small businesses. She lives in Grand Junction with her husband and their four children.