Ever since I was a little teen, I was told by my great-grandma

Sufe Bradshaw speaks not merely of a beauty ritual, but of an ancestral teaching: “Ever since I was a little teen, I was told by my great-grandma that you've got to always have a good moisturizer. I use cocoa butter, and I use it for all things needing moisture—face, hair, throw it on those legs at the beach, get them all shiny. Cocoa butter is such a great product.” What seems, at first, like advice on skin care is in truth the passing down of a deeper wisdom—that the body, like the soul, must be nourished, protected, and honored. From the voice of a great-grandmother to the practice of a granddaughter, this ritual becomes not vanity, but continuity.

The mention of cocoa butter is no accident, for this substance, drawn from the earth itself, has long been cherished for its ability to heal and restore. To anoint the skin with it is to preserve strength, vitality, and radiance. But more than its practical uses, the teaching symbolizes the greater truth: that to endure the dryness of life, one must apply the oils of care and attention. Just as parched skin cracks without moisture, so too does the spirit crack without love, wisdom, and nurturing.

The ancients also believed in the sacredness of oils and balms. In Egypt, pharaohs and commoners alike applied ointments of myrrh and almond to preserve the skin against the desert sun. In biblical times, anointing with oil was a sign of blessing, healing, and consecration. To care for the skin was to care for the vessel of the soul. Bradshaw’s great-grandmother, in her simple insistence on moisturizer, was echoing this timeless tradition: the body must be kept whole if the spirit is to shine through it.

We may recall, too, the story of Cleopatra, who was said to bathe in milk and use balms to preserve her beauty. Though some may dismiss it as vanity, in truth it was an act of sovereignty and preparation—for the one who must carry herself as a queen must keep her vessel strong. So too does Bradshaw’s teaching remind us that self-care is not frivolity. It is a way of honoring the life you have been given, of keeping the temple of your body worthy of the soul it shelters.

Yet there is something even greater here: the role of the elder’s voice. Bradshaw’s great-grandmother gave her this wisdom not as a passing suggestion, but as a sacred command for living well. It reminds us that the teachings of elders often come cloaked in simplicity, yet contain treasures of truth. A jar of cocoa butter becomes more than a cosmetic; it becomes a symbol of generational love, of one woman telling another: “Care for yourself, for your body is precious, and your presence in the world matters.”

The lesson for us is this: listen to the small teachings passed down to you, for often they are the anchors of greater wisdom. If you are told to moisturize, do so—but also ask what deeper truth lies within. Care for your skin, yes, but also care for your heart, your relationships, your spirit. Apply the oils of kindness where bitterness cracks, apply the balm of forgiveness where resentment has dried, and let your life shine with the glow of one who has been faithfully tended.

Practical action flows easily from this wisdom. Let each person establish rituals of self-care, not out of vanity, but out of reverence. Use what the earth provides—cocoa butter, oil, food, rest—to maintain your strength. And just as importantly, pass these practices to others. For as Bradshaw’s great-grandmother gave to her, so too must you give to the next generation: simple instructions that carry lifetimes of care.

So, children of tomorrow, remember the teaching: “Always have a good moisturizer.” It is more than advice for the skin; it is a command to protect, nurture, and honor what has been entrusted to you. For just as cocoa butter restores the body, so too do wisdom and love restore the spirit. And if you keep this teaching, you will walk through the heat of life’s deserts with skin unbroken and soul shining, carrying forward the inheritance of your elders.