When the Crowd Comes for You: Why Grace Is Greater Than Walls

Sometimes the most unexpected moments become the greatest teachers. I didn’t expect to walk into a town meeting and walk out wounded—but that’s what happened. My husband and I are simply renovating a small, sweet cottage. We’ve gone above and beyond to do it with integrity, thoughtfulness, and respect for our neighbors. But when we showed up to the meeting, ready for unity, we were met with division.

Accusations. Mocking. Outright lies. For 30 minutes straight, we were under fire—not for what we did, but for what our presence seemed to represent. And yes, I cried. Not over building delays or permits, but because of what I saw under the surface: pain.

 You’ve heard the phrase "hurt people hurt people," and while it sounds cliché, when you’re the one on the receiving end, it’s no longer a slogan—it’s a soul check.

In those faces, I saw loneliness. I saw bitterness. I saw a room full of people who had long forgotten what joy felt like. And suddenly it wasn’t about the house anymore. It was about healing.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to build a literal wall in front of their view and paint a giant mural that read “Petty lives live here.” But I took a breath, stepped out, and whispered the only prayer I could manage: “God, help me not match their energy. Help me respond like You.”

I returned to the room. Not to defend—but to be real. To cry. To speak truth. And the more vulnerable I became, the more it showed the contrast between venom and vulnerability.

Here’s the truth: When people are living in the dark, light makes them uncomfortable. Your peace can feel like a mirror to their pain. Your joy can stir up what they haven’t felt in years. And if they haven’t learned how to heal, they may try to dim what they don’t understand.

But here’s where you get to choose.

Do you build a wall? Or do you build a bridge?

Walls feel satisfying in the short term—but they also isolate. Bridges cost more. They require more effort, more humility. But they create connection. And in a world that’s starving for kindness, choosing grace isn’t weakness—it’s radical strength.

I don’t know exactly what I’ll do next. Maybe bring up their trash cans in the rain. Not because they deserve it, but because I deserve peace.

And maybe—just maybe—someone watching will soften.

So when you feel under attack, pause. Don’t meet fire with fire. Meet it with truth. With light. With something stronger than the crowd expects.

Because love builds what walls never can.