Freedom Still Exists

I remember waking up early in the morning, when the sky was still dark with anticipation of the sun, and the birds were still asleep. I would hear the breeze which always seems stronger at that time of day, pushing through the branches and grass, counter-intuitively inviting me for my morning jog. The air is different in the morning—cleaner, or something. I don’t know what ever motivated me in the first place to get up at that time and push my body to move for an hour on no food or coffee…but there is something so rewarding, so fulfilling about it. Waking up before the world is moving gives the sense of control, hope, potential. This day can be anything. I can do anything. I own the day.

I’m sure that somewhere in there, I can accredit the “runner’s high” that apparently contributes to these happy feelings. And, of course, there is the obvious ‘no one needs anything from me right now’ feeling of freedom. But I think there is something more than that. Something else going on. Maybe it’s the post-run reward of a hot shower, hot tea, healthy breakfast, feeling oh-so-clean and prepared for my day. It definitely beats waking up at 7:30 because my kid is already awake, my husband is already working and I have no idea what to do for breakfast.

We moved to Mozambique about a year and a half ago. It’s a long country along the Southeast side of Africa. We work here now. It’s been an adjustment, and that’s really just an understatement. When we first arrived, I can distinctly remember our optimism and excitement. After years of training and planning, we had finally arrived. Right away I found a co-worker to run with in the mornings. Oh, thank you God! I thought. But something was different. It became…stressful. The smells and sights of the third world slowly started to take over. Garbage everywhere, sewage flowing down the streets, stares but everyone-men, women and children-as if I was a different species doing something that makes no sense in the minds of those who are just looking for their next meal. After about 6 months, it got to me. I stopped running. I just couldn’t enjoy it. There were no green parks or clean roads or other runners…and the constant feeling of being stared at was something that even my iPod’s highest volume couldn’t block out. I even became resentful, wondering why it had to be such a big deal to everyone. I know there are other white people here! Why do they always look at me like I’m the first?

An accumulation of physical and emotional stress took its toll on my health, and I battled with one strange thing after another. From day one I was covered in hives, and spent the next 4 months scratching my skin off before our house was finally fumigated and the problem subsided. From there, the list grew: the flu, allergies, fatigue, stomach problems, infections, everything short of malaria. And if it wasn’t me, it was my one year old or my husband. Needless to say, fitness fell to the wayside and that sense of control and optimism got buried with it.

But I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Fitness had become a part of me and this could only be a season of difference. Aerobics dvds only suffice for so long…but nothing can substitute a good run. So I started to utilize the base of another ex-pat organization that has a dirt track running the perimeter. Sure, I’m running in circles, but they are big circles, and I’m surrounded by trees. I can even see a view of the mountains in the distance and get glimpses of the sun setting. It beats the harsh sights of pavement and waste any day. Especially when I see familiar faces getting their jogs in as well. Ah yes, I am not crazy. Running is normal, or at least in some places.

It’s not easy to give up parts of what you consider yourself. Things that enhance your life, activities that you count as part of what makes you you, routines that you never thought you could live without. There were moments when I really stopped and wondered, “If I can’t do this, then who am I?” as if I were losing my identity. Apparently, or so I’ve been told, these are normal feelings when moving to a foreign field of work. In this process of change that I am in, I find myself constantly adjusting my expectations, and surprising myself at how grateful I can be for things that used to be just part of everyday. Here, I cannot define myself by those things I love so much. I have had to go deeper into the reasons behind those things. I love to run because I love nature. I feel connected with God and in tune with how he created me to be. I feel free. But I’ve been forced to find that freedom elsewhere. In God, no less, I am learning the truth of His real freedom regardless of my environment. When I’m stuck in my house all day, when our car is broken and I can’t get out of the city, and when the next day off is too many days away, freedom still exists.

So now I look a little closer…in my friendships, my marriage, my child, music, cooking, writing, the Word, games…and I find some relief and laughter. I know that I will always want to run, and always take advantage of the opportunity as it arises, and in the meantime, pray for eyes to see and grab on to that freedom around me.