Too much.

I’ve been loving a very small God. The love I thought I understood from God is not enough to make sense of the stories I heard this week. 

I’ve started the interview part of my research for CARSA where I have the unbelievable opportunity to talk with genocide survivors and their perpetrators (the men who killed the survivor's family, tried to kill them, or destroyed their property). In a word, it was just too much. 

(Warning, although I don't go into much detail, these stories might be disturbing)

I found myself being served tea by a genocide survivor in the house of the man that tried to kill her. During the genocide she was thrown in a pit with 300 dead bodies where she spent 3 days. Today, as she prepared African tea with the milk from the cow mooing 5 feet from the door, the perpetrator’s wife prepared the biggest platter of cassava and beans for my coworkers and I. We sang the only song I could start in Kinyarwanda, appropriately about God being there for the broken heart. Then we stood and held hands, praying as the most confusingly beautifully tragic group of people . I looked around at the collection of people and thought their stories, their reconciliation, their hospitality…this is too much.

I found myself physically nauseous as a 21-year-old boy (same age as me) explained that during the genocide he was thrown against the wall and believed to have been dead, which is how he survived. The 16 members of his family that were killed are buried in a memorial 500 feet from his house now. The man who took part in the killings joyfully greeted us at the boy’s house where we met him working along side the boy in the field. In fact, when I first saw them together, I assumed the boy was the man’s son. Later out of hearing range from the man, the boy explained how difficult it is to see his perpetrator everyday since it resurfaces the boy's trauma. We gave the perpetrator and the boy’s mom a ride to the market. I sighed in relief when I didn’t have to sit next to the man who threw a 1 year old against the wall. That is until I realized the 1 year olds mother was the one sitting next to him. The boy’s trauma, the mother’s ability to forgive, the sickening images in my mind, this is all too much.

The memorial is pictured above and the roof to the left is the boy's house

I found myself taking a candid picture of a woman and a teenage girl with their arms around each other laughing. This wouldn’t be all that bizarre until you learn that the woman is the wife of the man that destroyed the girl's house and stole all their belongings during the genocide. To this day, the girl’s mom suffers sickness and injuries from the beating she suffered in the forest less than a mile from where we stood. During the genocide, the mom was still breast feeding her twins, only one of which survived. The picture shows the surviving twin and the perpetrator's wife at the man’s house, less than 500 feet from where the woman lived during the genocide. Before the genocide they were all close friends and neighbors; the survivor mom even considered him her son. After the genocide, the woman turned the man into prison. But his wife maintained a close friendship with the woman. Through the perpetrator’s wife, the families have stayed close friends and now the survivor says the man is earning her trust again as he faithfully prepares to care for the cow they will share. The close relationship, the slow progress in rebuilding trust, the hospitality of the perpetrator’s wife, the conflicting feels of hate and humility swirling inside me, it’s all too much.
*Correction from an earlier version which said the man raped the girl's mom. A correction was made that he did not rape her, he destroyed her house and all her belongings. 

The survivor's house is 500 feet to the left of this
well which is 300 feet to the left of the man's house

I found myself in tears as the wife of a perpetrator tells me about her dedication to right the wrongs of her husband. Her husband, who took part in killing the survivor’s dad, died in prison in 1997. When he died, his wife was left not only with the debt of his family but also with the debt of what he did in the genocide. She sold all her property to try to repay the damage to the survivors and dedicated her life to asking for their forgiveness. Now, she is best friends with the survivors. I can’t express how loving their families are. Her conviction, her self sacrifice, his forgiveness, its all too much.

To be honest, I don’t get it. Reconciliation was one thing when people could be neatly labeled as “survivor” or “perpetrator,” but my ability to understand anything died somewhere between telling the man who smashed a baby’s head on the wall “God bless you” and receiving the incredible hospitality in the house of a man who tried to kill his neighbor.

I find myself asking, so where is the injustice in these stories? Is it in the affects of the genocide that survivors are still suffering every day 20 years later? Or is it in the fact that the men who are directly responsible for their suffering have been forgiven and now are free to live in God’s love? Or is it in my own heart that can’t bare the thought of the perpetrator’s receiving the same amount of God’s grace and love that I do?

But these are questions that come from a person who only understands a small part of God's love. The love I saw working in these people's lives is radical. It's transformative for both the rape victim and the murderer.  It points to a bigger God than I thought possible. I believe God has blessed these people with a deeper understanding of a bigger love than I might ever realize. But I can testify to this, that love is worth chasing. I’m so thankful God loves me, but through these people’s lives I saw just how big that love really is. In fact, it's too much. 

After an interview we found the kids of the survivor's
family and of the perpetrator's  family playing cards
together. You couldn't tell which family they belonged to.

The wife of the survivor leads the wife of the perpetrator
to the perpetrator's home. 

Hand in hand, a survivor and his offender inspect the cow shed
that will house the cow they are excited to share