The House of Munch: Day 5 – The Power of the Little Things
Today, our team continued our work with the Emotional and Spiritual Wellness group, greeting survivors, offering comfort, and listening to stories of loss and resilience. Normal. Expected. Then, we were called into action to address what we were told was an emergency down stairs that required our immediate response.
The line to enter the resource hub had maxed out before we even opened. Outside, tensions had erupted. People had been standing outside for hours—hungry, exhausted, and desperate for help—only to be told there was no guarantee they’d be seen today because of the overwhelming turn out. The situation spiraled.
Yelling. Crying. Security barking orders trying to maintain control. People shoving forward, afraid of being turned away. Fights breaking out in line, voices raised in anger and frustration. Dogs, agitated by the tension, barking and pulling at their leashes. The flashing lights of police and EMS vehicles. The event staff, stretched to their limits, doing everything right but barely holding the line. It was loud. It was desperate. It was a storm of emotion, fear, and frustration all colliding in a single, volatile moment.
This was real-time crisis de-escalation, and our team was called to quell it. Now.
Despite the storm and whirling surge of emotions, we relied on our training—watch, listen, assess. Should we counsel, console, talk? Should we bring in more people? Less people? Do we attempt to enter the fray and see what we can accomplish with words? Nothing seemed to be a viable option.
People weren’t just upset. They were drained. Hopeless. They were dehydrated, hungry, and felt unseen.
Then we saw our way in. We saw our answer, so small and basic we almost missed it. We moved quickly. We coordinated with other organizations, gathered as many cases of water and boxes of granola bars as we could carry, and started moving through the line. One by one, we handed out bottle after bottle, bar after bar. Along the way, we walked slowly, calmly, making eye contact, offering a moment of connection. A smile, a nod. Small actions with a rippling effect.
At first, it seemed like nothing changed. The noise, the energy, the sheer weight of panic—it all still hung in the air. But slowly, like a tide inching back, the tension began to ease.
As our team continued to exude calm energy and supplies made their way out from caring hands, the voices lowered. The arguments stopped. The barking quieted. The police stepped back. Security finally exhaled.
The shift was undeniable.
In the middle of so much chaos, it wasn’t grand gestures or profound words that made the difference. It wasn't yelling, uniforms, or flashing lights. It wasn't megaphones or displays of force. It was food. It was water. It was a brief moment of calm, genuine kindness. A simple, human connection reminding people that they were seen. That they mattered. That we were here with them, not against them.
Some simply needed a blanket. A small request in the grand scheme of things, yet when it was placed around their shoulders, they let out a deep, heavy sigh—one that spoke of exhaustion, of relief, of feeling just a little less alone in the middle of it all.
Yes, we spent the day providing emotional support. Yes, we sat with survivors. We listened to their stories, prayed with them, and helped them process their grief. That work was powerful, necessary, and deeply important. But today, we learned something just as profound: sometimes, the simplest gestures hold the most weight. A granola bar. A bottle of water. A blanket wrapped around someone’s shoulders.
It doesn’t take much to bring a sense of peace. It doesn’t take much to make someone feel safe.
And in the end, it’s always the little things that make the greatest difference.
With gratitude,
The House of Munch Team