Skin Care in Ordinary Moments
One morning recently—or perhaps it was late afternoon; the light was soft enough to be either—I found myself in the supermarket aisle lined with olive oils. A young Indian couple stood there too, and somehow, we slipped into conversation, as strangers sometimes do when the moment allows it.
I had watched a YouTube video on choosing good olive oil, and suddenly I was an expert. Dark glass bottles are best, I said. Better still, a tin. Olive oil is sensitive to light.
They already knew. The young woman told me she takes a spoonful every day for her skin. And she had the kind of skin that made you believe her—smooth, luminous, almost as if it held its own light. Olive oil has been used for centuries as a simple, natural way to nourish the skin, and standing there beside the shelves, she was living proof of that quiet tradition. I almost said so, but her husband was beside her, and some compliments are better left unspoken.
When I got home, I told my wife the story. She suggested I buy her a good-quality olive oil and take a teaspoonful each day myself.
The funny thing is this: every morning I sit with my Bible and ask God to reveal something—some small truth I can carry into the day. And today, reading Psalm 104, a line rose from the page as if it had been waiting for me.
“Oil to make the face shine.”
In the ancient world, oil had many uses—cosmetic, medicinal, ceremonial. To make the face shine was not vanity; it was care. A way of restoring dignity, softening the harshness of life, and offering a visible sign of inner well-being. A kind of quiet blessing poured over the skin.
It feels almost intimate. Not survival, but tenderness. Not just existence, but being tended to.
I know God didn’t reveal anything profound. And yet the ancients, under inspiration, left us something we often overlook: that even in the smallest things—oil, light, skin, care—there is a quiet grace woven through the world.