Take Care (of Yourself)

last I checked, you're a human person

Photo by Shayna Douglas on Unsplash

What if instead of self-care, we called it “taking care of yourself”?

Because who can judge you for that?

When did "take care!" shrink from a “God-go-with-you”-sized sentiment into a guilty space called self-care? I’ve heard it equated with a spa day: a once-in-a-blue-moon extravagance.

And don’t get me started on the ways people talk about “taking care of yourself” like it’s about comparing dress sizes and gym memberships instead of getting enough sleep.

Maybe we should flip the self-care script to say, “Take care of yourself.”

All of you.

Your brain.

Your soul.

Your nervous system.

That tense muscle in your neck.

I have it on good authority that in some cultures, they live more like humans and less like robots. But where I live, if the bottom line is the finish line, do full lives fade by the wayside? Have we forgotten how to play? How to rest? How to be human?

So take care of yourself. For goodness sake—eat bread and drink *actual* water, move your body often, look up, and notice those clouds and that sky. Maybe check to make sure you’re not taking shallow breaths, roll your shoulders, choose conversation over chitchat, and belt a Broadway hit in the car. These things aren’t trite…they’re bone-deep.

Watch a rom-com…or a thriller…or read a good story.

Cry honest tears if it hurts.

Don’t be scared to laugh at yourself.

Because last I checked, you’re a human person. And not only that, you’re a human person who’s really, really good at taking care of other people.

Thank God we’re not God—no need to pretend we’re limitless. Needing care and rest is hardwired into our identity.

So, take care …of yourself. Please remember you’re a human person.

In her New York Times article, “Bring Back the Sabbath”, Judith Shulevitz wrote,

We could let the world wind us up and set us to marching, like mechanical dolls that go and go until they fall over, because they don't have a mechanism that allows them to pause. But that would make us less than human. We have to remember to stop because we have to stop to remember.”

Have a restful weekend, friend. Take care.

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P.S.

This week, one of my articles was published by The Anselm Society. It’s called “Honest Songs” and is about rediscovering the full range of emotions in Christian music. I loved exploring how co-creation links our stories across time—Aslan’s song in Narnia reverberating across the centuries.

Here’s an excerpt:

Ever since my grandmother taught me to find the middle white note on our baby grand, I’ve been drawn to music, specifically the music of the Church. I’ve accompanied congregations and taught music lessons. But most of all, hymn arranging and improvisation became an unlikely pathway for one young Christian to process depression, anxiety, and her own journey of faith. When almost everything else was confusing, hymns were there with melody and lyrics to speak the truth about God and the world. They stole past the “watchful dragons” as C. S. Lewis would say, sneakily allowing the truth I’d heard in Sunday school my whole life to sink deep and grow roots. …

… Hymns, new and old, are part of what allows Christians to truly acknowledge pain in this world and share hope that resonates—helping us trace the rainbow through the rain. In creating good, brave art, and in embellishing/re-imagining old themes, we’re linking arms with poets like Lina Sandell-Berg, George Matheson, and the psalmists. Their words still ring out during church services, in tearful prayer at a keyboard, as a lullaby to sleepy babies, or around a fireside circle of friends with a lone guitar. The song of Aslan in Narnia is still reverberating through the centuries.

P.P.S.

If you’re like me, you need several fall playlists for this season to feel complete! Here’s my coziest collection for your *restful* weekend.