The Bitter Pill
Imagine you are the mother of a four year-old girl.
You are seven months pregnant with your second child, excited by the future of the growing family you and your husband are nurturing together.
You have a promising career with the UN.
You come from a close-knit family. You, your siblings and your parents all live near each other in the same city.
One day, you are widowed because a neighbor you have known for years murdered your husband.
The next day your parents are murdered by one of their neighbors. Your siblings have gone missing.
Your entire world has turned into hell on earth. Overnight.
Determined to survive for the sake of your children, you seek shelter in a hotel with others who share your experience of the last few days. But the hotel is not the safe haven you expected it would be and becomes clear that you cannot give birth to your baby there. They are targeting pregnant women at the hotel. They take them and they kill them. Slowly.
So you run.
The closest place of refuge is in a town 80 miles away. You strap your daughter on your back and you walk. Not on the roads, because the militia are everywhere. You walk on uneven terrain. You walk. You hide. You walk again.
Soon after, you reach the town, and just in time. You welcome your second child, a baby boy, into an uncertain world with an uncertain future.
The joy you feel bringing a new life into the world is interrupted by more disturbing news. Not far from this town over 50,000 people were killed in just two days. The government told them to take shelter at a secondary school where they would be safe. They would be protected.
But it was a lie.
And again you must run.
Your daughter becomes very ill along the way but it is too dangerous to seek help. Then a man, a stranger, finds you hiding and offers to bring your daughter to the doctor and return her safely to you, with the medicine she needs to recover.
You certainly can no longer rely on the kindness of those you know. How can you rely on the kindness of a stranger? Do you have another option? In the light of the morning sun, you put your little girl in unfamiliar arms, praying to God to protect her because you have no other choice.
And then you wait.
Late that evening, you realize that even though you have not spoken to God in many years He was still listening for your voice. He heard you.
The unfamiliar arms return with your daughter. And with more than enough medication to make her well again.
This time you run across the border with some friends you meet who are also running. One of your new friends knows a wealthy family who is housing refugees just across the border.
When you arrive at the family’s house with your children and your friends you are welcomed with open arms. Once again you put your little family’s lives into the hands of strangers. Once again, you have made the right choice.
For two weeks, they buy you dresses, clothes for your daughter and milk for your baby boy. You feel safe, and for the first time in weeks, you feel loved.
One day the family sits with you and tells you the militia has heard of your hiding place. You are no longer safe. Soon they will come to attack your benefactors, your friends and you.
However, the family has a plan for you and your friends. They write a letter for you to take to a friend of theirs who lives further from the border. Further from danger.
One more time, you run.
After many months, you return home to a country you no longer recognize. Your family is shattered. The course of your life, unrecognizable. Yet in the midst of loss, of pain, of mourning, you understand the only way to move forward is through reconciliation.
Reconciliation is a bitter pill, but you know there is no other way to a future made whole.
So you hold your breath. Close your eyes.
And swallow.
Your name is Chantal.
You are a survivor.
You are loved by God.
