The people who love me best tell me to take care of myself.  I admit this is not a natural tendency.  I’m sure that tendency is born from several sources.  I grew up among men who were celebrated for being tough.  I remember hearing of a cowboy who was thrown from his horse and heard a loud crack.  He groaned in pain for a few seconds, got back on his horse, and finished the day’s work.  When he got home, his wife insisted he go to the emergency room, where an X-ray revealed he had three broken ribs.  The editorial comment was, “Man, that is one tough cowboy.”   

It did not help that my religious culture celebrated missionaries who heroically died on foreign soil and pastors who died in the midst of preaching a sermon.   More than once, I was told, “It is better to wear yourself out for God than rust yourself out for the devil.”  No one went on to observe whether you wore yourself out or rusted out; either way, you were out. 

I did not know a single preacher who jogged until I went to seminary.  When pastors talked about eating healthy, they meant they would take a smaller piece of pie.  In my culture of fried chicken, rice and gravy, and green bean casserole, eating vegan was unheard of.  This changed, of course.  I have a friend who is stepping down from pastoring his church so he can coach pastors and ministers full-time on how to care for their health.  Pastors used to sneak off to see counselors; now, some pastoral meetings are about the latest thing the pastors learned in therapy. 

As I grow older, I am finding more reasons to live longer.  I want to spend as many days with my wife as possible.  I want to see my grandson graduate from college.  I am hoping for more grandchildren, and I would like them to remember me.  I want to finish well at the church I serve.  I want to see the family ranch thrive. 

I was praying about this the other day, asking the Lord to give me enough days to see these things.  God does not speak to me audibly, but thoughts come to me in prayer.  This thought came: “I want to give you this, but you have a part.” 

This is what God does over and over.  He makes the world, but he lets man name the animals.  He pays for our sins, but we must accept the gift.  He beckons us to follow him, but we must leave our nets and boats.  We have a part. 

We even have a part in taking care of ourselves.  I wish God would let me eat what I want, as much as I want, whenever I want, and still lose weight.  God has not answered that request in forty years; it seems doubtful he will.  I have a part. 

I want to build my stamina without exercise.  Sitting in my recliner does not seem to build strength.  I think I need to actually move to get my heart rate up.  I want to stay mentally sharp while rotting my brain with too much screen time.  Putting down my phone and engaging in the world might save my mental acuity.  I have a part. 

Paul said in Romans 7 that he knew the right things to do, but he struggled to do them.  He finished his thought with the cry, “Oh wretched man that I am!  Who will rescue me from this body of death?” 

Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd.  That means his followers are sheep who need guidance in everyday choices.  Ultimately, I have to confess to Jesus that I am not strong enough to make good choices on my own.  I need his help.  I need his guidance.  Even though God tells me I must do my part, I must turn back to him and confess that I am weak.  I cannot do my part without his help, without his mercy, without his grace.   

And it is the grace of God that he is willing to help me with my part.  This is not an excuse to be passive, but an acknowledgment I need the direction of God at the very root of my being. 

Paul finished his thought in Romans with a thankful hope: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”  Jesus is the one who rescues me from myself, who teaches me to take care of myself, and who then gives me the strength to do my part.  

So I thank God for taking care of me.  I thank God for making clear my part in taking care of myself.  And I thank God for giving me the strength to do my part because I cannot do it by myself.  He takes care of me… and you.