Feathery tickles starting at my temple and tracing along my hairline brought me back to consciousness. The sticky dark of the night fogged my mind and my senses. I couldn’t pull out of the heat-stricken sleep quickly, but the sensation of something being on my face motivated me. It’s impressive how quickly your physical body responds when the brain says, “WHAT THE….?!?!” I kept my body taut barely breathing. The only movement I allowed was to slowly turn my eyes towards the last point of contact whereupon I saw my night friend.

The gecko looked huge, but it was only because his head was perched right next to my eyeball. I saw nose, neck, and night vision googly eyes, and that was it. I shot straight up, adrenaline causing painful prickles in my extremities as sweat beaded my forehead. My hands frantically flailed over every inch of fabric on my side of the bed challenging any creature to defy my sacred space again. Brian barely rolled over vaguely grunting out something that sounded like a question. Assuming the best (that he was asking me what had encouraged such wild smacking and not telling me to simmer down) I whisper-yelled, “A gecko on my face! ON MY FACE!!!” Because no matter what happens in this house or what kind of creatures treat your face as a perch, when the children sleep there is no yelling.

I was kind of done then. There are moments living overseas that you “get done”. They pass, sometimes quickly as a sheen of discontent, sometimes they are anchored surprisingly deep and require extraction. I could tell this “doneness” was of the latter kind. Brian knew it, too, and so came another One Woman’s Retreat (to read about the first One Woman’s Retreat, click here). This time my retreat was with “one other woman, staying with one other woman.” So three of us made up this retreat for one, and it was absolutely what I needed.

I learned things about myself while I stayed in Canberra, Australia on the One Woman’s Retreat… with her… and her:

• Without children I have totally lost the ability to keep abreast of time’s passage. The clock was always surprising us, even mocking us. We were so sure the YouTube binge-watching had only lasted 30 minutes. Nope, says the clock. Oh, no. Three hours, friends. Three. Hours.
• I actually can stay awake past 9pm at night! I was sure it was a physical impossibility, but this retreat taught me otherwise. YouTube helped.
• I am capable of dressing. It may sound silly to you, but sometimes I think I’ve forgotten the art of putting an outfit together. Being in PNG gives very little incentive to being fashionable. The best thing you can do here is wear bright pink stripes with bright orange flower print. So could I dress for a day with “…and her… and her” during this retreat? Lo and behold! I could.
• My hair is straight. My hair is straight. Remember that, girl. Your hair is straight.

Me… and her… and her

All of these reminders or new discoveries about myself served to rejuvenate. I laughed like you can only laugh with dear friends. I wept like you can only weep with safe women. And I felt so ready to see my husband and children again, to tackle this life we’re carving out for ourselves. No longer will geckos on my face or cockroaches popping out from dark corners send me spiraling into a doneness. At least, not for quite some time.

The last full day in Canberra I dragged myself out of bed to a cold and silent house. I watched the dust spring off the laces of my running shoes as I tied them, reminding me that no matter how much I didn’t feel like running I should take advantage of being able to run somewhere other than PNG. That dust slowly floating to the ground was PNG dust. So don’t complain now, I told myself, because shortly you’ll be facing a strong morning sun, stray dogs, and running in circles around Brian to stay safe. Getting to the park behind the house was a steady uphill. By the time my muscles warmed up, tears were streaming down my face from the stinging cold, biting my throat and making my teeth ache. Everything inside of me wanted to quit, but knowing it was my last day kept me going. I tried to avoid checking my GPS watch because it so often defeats me mentally, but I only last so long at that game. When I did finally check I realized I was a full minute behind my usual pace. NOOOO!! Then I really wanted to quit. Apparently my legs were just frozen, I should quit… but I kept going. At the two mile mark I felt a palpable urge to look up, something that never happens when I’m running on nature trails. I always look just in front of my feet at the next root or dip, fearing a fall. But I inexplicably looked up, and there just a stone’s throw in front of me was a kangaroo my size. It slowly bounced across the path making its way back into the trees. It felt like it hopped into view just for me.

This was taken on the running trail THE DAY AFTER I left. Oh, sneaky kangaroos.

The God I serve has such deep delight in us. Those night vision googly eyes he gave the gecko are an example. I feel certain he at least chortled when he created such a ridiculous-looking, and yet highly functional, creature. On this One Woman’s Retreat for three, he knew I needed bleeding time with some women. Some of the gunk that’s been building inside of me needed to be drawn out. Much less important, he knew I desperately wanted to see a wild kangaroo on a run. Apparently they are normally all over that path, but we didn’t see a trace… until the last day when my kangaroo appeared. If I had been running at a normal pace, I would have missed it. If I had kept my eyes down, I would have missed it. If I had followed my body’s pleading and quit, I would have missed it. But God gave me that moment, and it was as exhilarating as the gecko on my face was, well, horrific. He gives joy through his creation, teaches lessons through his creation, and manifests his infinite love for us by giving quiet moments on the running trail, just you, him, and your kangaroo.