Andrew Peterson’s music and books have been a family favorite for years. My 8 year old son Asher, who first heard Andrew Peterson sing at a Behold the Lamb of God show just weeks before he was born, would tell you that his favorite author and musician is Andrew Peterson. Following in his father’s footsteps, he’s read The Wingfeather Saga more than once and wishes it were all real. He even plays Handyball in our front yard.
We are in a strange season as family. Coming off of a huge and wonderful, but jarring, transition, I am feeling a bit lost and aware of how hard I am clinging to grace. Every song on the album The Burning Edge of Dawn speaks to me right now, which means I am driving around our city with my kids in tow, weeping while it plays in our minivan. If you see me at our local Super Target and my eyes are puffy, don’t worry, I am practicing self-care. It’s important to pay attention to the things that make us cry. It’s equally important to be willing to go to those places and sit still through them. How can we care for ourselves or be in a place to care for others if we don’t pay attention?
A creative writing professor once told me that though he could teach our class a lot about writing, he couldn’t teach us how to write from the heart. He said he wanted us to write from the heart and that no matter how skilled we became, if we didn’t do that, it wouldn’t matter much. In the same way, it’s rare to find music that speaks from and straight to the heart. When we do, will we listen?
So lately, self-care sounds like Andrew Peterson’s music. And it looks like me crying a whole lot. It’s the kind of self-care that reaches down deep, the kind that might make us uncomfortable, but the kind that keeps us tender and tells us we aren’t alone.
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