This past week, I was at Utah Valley University at the time when Charlie Kirk was shot. I will never forget the sound of chaos and confusion that followed. Nor will I forget the fear on the faces of the many youth around me. But more than the horror of that moment, what I will remember most is what we all learned about war and peace.
In that moment of panic and uncertainty, people didn’t ask each other who they voted for, what movements they supported, or what flags they flew. No one asked about religious differences or political positions. When the shot rang out and people ran, they didn’t run alone. They grabbed each other. They shielded one another. They cried, they prayed, and they huddled together—strangers united by shared humanity.
We had come to that place divided by ideas, but when violence broke the air, we found each other. We found a strange and sacred kind of peace.
In the hours that followed, my thoughts kept returning to a principle I’ve taught for years: Self-government brings peace, even in the middle of a storm. What I witnessed that day was a storm of confusion and fear—and still, pockets of peace emerged through calm hearts, shared compassion, and disciplined restraint. That’s what real peace looks like.
War Is Not What We Think It Is
I’ll admit, over the years, I’ve sometimes used the language of war to describe the battle between truth and deception, light and darkness. And yes, there is a real spiritual and ideological war being waged in our world today. But I’ve never believed that people themselves are the enemy. In fact, it’s been my life’s mission to remind families, communities, and even policymakers that we are not at war with each other.
I believe we are supposed to be united in heart and mind, even if we don’t always agree in opinion. The ability to disagree respectfully and still remain connected—that is the essence of peace.
So what is war, really? And what is peace?
War isn’t just missiles or bullets. War begins when we dehumanize another person, when we frame our conversations as battles and our opponents as enemies. War starts in our words and our thoughts. And that means peace does too.
Peace Comes from Mastery of Self
Peace doesn’t come from silencing those we don’t understand. It doesn’t come from controlling others or forcing them to agree. That kind of “peace” is hollow—it’s the absence of conflict, not the presence of understanding.
True peace comes from humility. From knowing who you are, and knowing who others are too—children of God, with divine potential and the same right to self-government that you have.
Self-government teaches us to analyze our own thoughts, to check our own behaviors, and to choose calmness in the face of offense. It teaches us to be still inside, to stop the war within before we ever project it without. That is where peace begins. And once we’ve found it, no one can take it from us.
Calmness is not weakness. It is strength under control. It is the fruit of maturity, confidence, and moral clarity. When we stop ourselves, breathe deeply, and choose a productive path—even in conflict—we are waging peace in a world obsessed with war.
The Language of Peace
Our culture has become so accustomed to battle language that we hardly notice it. “We’re fighting for our beliefs.” “We won the argument.” “We defeated the bill.” “We destroyed their narrative.” It’s everywhere.
But if words shape thoughts and thoughts shape actions, then this kind of thinking becomes dangerous.
If someone has a different viewpoint, that doesn’t make them your opponent in a war. They are just a person with a different perspective. If someone votes differently or raises their children differently, or interprets policy differently, that doesn’t mean they are evil or out to destroy you. Most people are trying to do the best they can with what they know.
What if we stopped calling our debates “battles” and started calling them “discussions”? What if we stopped thinking of our neighbors as combatants and started seeing them as fellow travelers?
The way we speak about people affects the way we speak to people. And the way we speak to people determines whether we build bridges—or burn them.
The War That Matters Most
In the end, the most important war we will ever fight is the one within ourselves: the war between fear and faith, pride and humility, reaction and self-control.
The young people at UVU that day could have panicked. Some did at first. But what I saw more than anything was courage, calmness, and compassion. I saw teens and young adults looking out for each other. I saw leaders stepping in to help. I saw people conquering fear—not through force, but through love.
That’s the kind of strength the world needs right now.
It’s easy to point fingers and blame. It’s harder to take responsibility for our own hearts and tongues. But that’s the only path that leads to peace.
And peace is not just the absence of war. Peace is the presence of self-government, mutual respect, and love. Peace is something you create—starting in your own heart and at your own home, and then letting it ripple outward.
At a time when our world feels increasingly unsettled and divided, it’s more important than ever to remember: The war is not with others. The war is with ourselves. And peace begins when we win that inner battle.
If this message resonates with you, and you want to deepen your ability to create peace in your home and community, I invite you to come to this year’s online Teaching Self-Government Conference: “When the World Shifts, Home Holds.” You’ll leave with tools, connections, and vision for building peace from the inside out.
