Running for Joy - U.S. Olympian Lopez Lomong

 This is a FABULOUS article below. What a gift Lopez Lomong's story is and what a light in this world!! 

http://www.intouch.org/magazine/content?topic=running_for_joy#.UCWK2ZjPX2c

 

Running for Joy

U.S. Olympian Lopez Lomong once ran to escape death and the harsh life of a refugee. Now he runs for a higher calling

By Erin Gieschen
Photograph courtesy of Tim Lawrence

Lopez Lomong’s first Olympic experience cost five shillings—all the money he’d ever owned. The 15-year-old Sudanese refugee reluctantly handed over his precious coin to the Kenyan farmer from whom he’d earned it earlier that week, and found a spot on the crowded living room floor. Everyone was leaning with expectation toward a small box connected to a car battery, and Lomong realized he was about to watch a TV—something he’d only heard about before.

He and 15 friends from Kakuma, the refugee camp five miles away, had heard some buzz about “Olympics” and walked to the farmer’s house to see what the excitement was about. But when the black-and-white TV flickered on, men were running on a little road that circled a huge field, and thousands of people were cheering. Lomong was astonished. Running is a sport?

Every day, the boy ran Kakuma’s 18-mile perimeter barefoot to clear his mind, ignore his hunger, and earn the chance to play soccer—a rule the camp’s older teens had established to keep the field from being overwhelmed by thousands of boys. Lomong had always loved running. That is, except for the three nights he ran through Sudanese wilderness to flee the militia’s machine gun fire.

He was only six years old when militiamen disrupted his village’s outdoor Sunday morning church service and kidnapped the children to train them as soldiers. At the camp Lomong was taken to, he was left with the weaker boys—who were gradually dying off from hunger and disease—while the older and stronger ones were taught to operate AK-47s. Even at such a young age, he realized the brutal environment would eventually take his life too. That’s when three teenagers who’d been protecting him told Lomong their plans to help him escape. When night came, they lifted the boy over sleeping bodies. The four crawled on their bellies in the tall grass, past the guards, and through a narrow space under the camp’s chain-link fence. Then they ran.

“I may have been far from home, but God had not abandoned me. I never doubted that for a moment.”

 

Lomong still wonders who his three friends were—whether they were three selfless young men whom God used to save him—or simply angels. One way or another, they led him night after night through the bush, on game trails, and from oasis to oasis, all the way to the border and on into Kenya. “I may have been far from home,” says Lomong, remembering the grueling journey, “but God had not abandoned me. I never doubted that for a moment.”

Finally, when his bare feet were so cut and bruised that he could hardly stand, Kenyan soldiers found the boys and brought them to Kakuma. And as soon as the six-year-old’s feet healed, his three friends disappeared. When he came to accept that his family in Sudan had most likely been killed, Lomong realized that he had to make the most of his new life in this sea of 50,000 refugees. The majority were “Lost Boys” like him, orphaned and displaced by decades of war, and he saw many lose their will to live. He vowed that he would not.

Despite Kakuma’s horrible conditions—disease and hunger claimed lives daily—Lomong counted himself blessed. He finally had a chance to go to school, was growing in his relationship with God, and had hope that his life had purpose beyond the refugee camp. He just wasn’t sure yet what that was.

Until the night he saw Michael Johnson run in the Olympics.

Sitting in front of the farmer’s black-and-white TV, Lomong was captivated as he watched Johnson, already a three-time gold medalist for the United States, win the 400-meter dash at the 2000 Sydney Olympics —the final race of his career. But it was the aftermath of the sprinter’s victory that changed the Sudanese teenager’s life. As Johnson stood on the podium with the gold medal around his neck and the American flag rising behind him, the TV cameras zoomed in on his face. He let tears fall from his eyes as “The Star-Spangled Banner” played. Lomong was stunned. Men never cried in public! And yet, here was this champion, showing emotion for the entire world to see. Clearly, it wasn’t just about winning the race. This man was running for something bigger than himself.

And that’s when the 15-year-old Lost Boy began to dream about one day running in the Olympics. For the USA.

It didn’t matter that there were no opportunities for refugees. It didn’t matter that America was somewhere very, very far away. Lomong knew he was still alive for a reason, and it seemed to him that this impossible dream wasn’t really impossible if it was from God.

Two months later, Lomong knew his dream was no mere fantasy. He heard the news at church: The United States was opening its doors to 3,500 Lost Boys. The number was just a fraction of the camp’s population, and he knew he didn’t deserve to go any more than anyone else. All of them had suffered; all of them desperately wanted a chance to build a new life. But he knew that if God wanted to take him to America, nothing would stand in the way. So it hardly seemed an obstacle that the selection would be based on an essay written in English. Lomong didn’t speak English or even own a pencil. But with the help of friends, he wrote out his translated story, praying all the way through. He dropped his submission in the bin at church the next Sunday with only one thought: God will decide—not this essay, not the Americans. It is up to Him alone.

Months passed, and then on Christmas day, Lomong got the best news of his life: He was going to America.

Lomong was placed in upstate New York with Rob and Barbara Rogers, empty nesters who’d felt called to foster a new son after reading in their church bulletin about the need. Nothing could have prepared the Sudanese teen for the reality of his new home. Food was everywhere, enough to feed his tent of ten boys in Kakuma for months. And even the Rogers’ storage shed was bigger than any house Lomong had ever seen. He figured there surely had been some mix-up, and any moment, someone would arrive to tell him he didn’t really belong in this dream world. That night was his first time on a real bed; he went to sleep with the lights on, because he had no idea how to turn them off.

Lomong running for Tully High School

In the morning, he did the only thing that still made sense: he went running. His foster parents wondered if they’d heard the boy right—that he needed to run 30 kilometers, just as he did every day—but they talked him into putting on some shoes and promptly called the track coach at the local high school. By the time he’d come back from his 18-mile jog, the coach was trying to recruit him for Tully High School’s track team.

Lomong easily won his second-ever long-distance meet, beating 400 other runners, and eventually helped his team win state titles. Still, he faced an uphill battle in school, beginning 10th grade with virtually no English skills and aiming to graduate in just two years. Yet in spite of the intense studying and endless challenges of adjusting to a new country, Lomong felt he’d been given his childhood back a decade after it had been stolen from him. He’d spent years fending for himself and others, and yet now there were people who wanted nothing more than to help him and take care of him. “Thanks to my parents, who loved me unconditionally,” he says of his American mom and dad, “I got to be a kid again.”

Lomong with Rob and Barbara Rogers

Lomong went on to run for Northern Arizona University, a college known for training top track athletes, and was the NCAA champion in both the indoor 3000-meter and the prestigious 1500-meter events. In a sport where fractions of a second can mean success or failure, Lomong remained strangely unburdened by the pressure that normally builds up prior to each race. To him, each opportunity to run was a gift from God—not something to stress about. “Pressure is trying to make a UN food allotment stretch for 30 days. Pressure is watching friends die of malaria and wondering who will be next,” he says. “When I go to the line, all I’m thinking is, Wow, God is great.”

So when he suffered an injured hamstring two weeks before the Olympic trials, Lomong didn’t panic. And when he twisted his ankle in a freak accident ten minutes before his final qualifying race, he did what he’d done throughout life: he surrendered the situation to God. After all, his dream to be an Olympian wasn’t about him. His deeper desire was to help his people in Sudan who were still suffering from the decades of civil war, as well as the other Lost Boys and refugees in Kakuma who weren’t as fortunate as him. Running in the 2008 Olympics would give him the opportunity to share his story—and their needs—with the world. I know You gave me this dream for something bigger than myself, Lomong prayed. You’ve done too many impossible things in my life so far for me to believe that You want my dream to end like this.

Miraculously, his ankle felt as though nothing had happened to it. He left his dumbfounded coach and physical therapist and took his place at the line. Overjoyed at the realization that God had healed his ankle, Lomong ran with ease. But then, 200 meters before the finish line, his hamstring seized up. One by one, the other runners passed him. This was the last curve, and they’d all gone into their final kick. Lomong knew that if he didn’t come in at least third, he wouldn’t advance to the Olympics. But the pain was increasing with every step. All he could do was what he’d always done. Oh God, hear my prayer, he prayed. Let my cry come to you.

Suddenly, Lomong no longer felt the pain in his body. He surged forward, overtaking runners who had passed him 100 meters ago. Seeing the third place spot just ahead, he flew to the finish line.

Lopez Lomong was officially a U.S. Olympian.

“A lot of people run to break records or to get a gold medal. But I’m running to give back—to give to the people in need. That’s what God gave me this talent for.”

 

On August 8, 2008, the whole world watched as Lomong carried the American flag in front of Team USA in the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics. It was the first time that an entire team had unanimously nominated one member to be the flag bearer.

Lomong’s story was in demand, and he seized opportunity after opportunity to talk about his people’s situation in Sudan—as well as his own testimony of God’s grace. He met the President of the United States. He spoke to his high school basketball heroes on the Dream Team about what his adoptive country meant to him. Lomong didn’t win any medals in Beijing, but you would never have known that if you’d seen him after the 1500-meter semifinals—his family, friends, and throngs of strangers gathered around him, singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Lomong in the final qualifying race of the 2012 Olympic Trials

Four years later, Lomong is still living his dream. In the 2012 London Olympics trials, he placed first in his qualifying race and then came in third during the final—again, just making it onto Team USA.

Again, he has more in mind than winning a medal. “I’m so blessed to have a platform to share this story for those who don’t have a voice,” he says. “A lot of people run to break records or to get a gold medal. That’s in my heart, too, and why I’m pushing myself every day. But I’m running to give back—to give to the people in need. That’s what God gave me this talent for.”

And Lomong is giving back more than just his voice. His foundation, 4 South Sudan, partners with Christian relief organization World Vision to bring transformation to communities in South Sudan with clean water, education, improved farming, and healthcare. Many of his fellow athletes and even unexpected friends have joined Lomong’s efforts since the 2008 Olympics. A group of Muslims from the Darfur region of western Sudan were so moved by his advocacy for their home that they’re now helping him build a church in his childhood village—on the very ground he was taken from as a child.

“God put me here; God rescued me for a reason,” says Lomong. “When I leave this world, [I want to know that] I did everything I needed to do on earth to give hope to others, to trickle down that blessing I have been given, and to help them know that they do matter because they are God’s people. That’s what I’m here for.”

So when you hear the starting gunshot at the Olympic Stadium on August 8th and see Lomong take off around the track, you’ll be watching a man running for something beyond his own dreams. “I’m running for the people who are still going through what I went through; I’m running for the country that took me in; for the people who cheer me on every day regardless—if I win the race or come in last. I’m no longer running for my life. I’m running for joy.”

You can read more of Lopez Lomong’s story in his autobiography, Running for My Life.

Copyright 2012 In Touch Ministries, Inc. All rights reserved. www.intouch.org. In Touch grants permission to print for personal use only.