Monday, June 23, 2025
Theme: Hope as a Practice — Rooted in Soft Strength
You don’t have to feel hopeful to practice hope.
Sometimes, hope isn’t a spark.
It’s a return.
A breath.
A whisper: “I’m still here.”
It’s not loud or lofty.
It doesn’t erase your weariness.
But it steadies your soul in the in-between.
And in that sacred pause,
where you choose to come back
—to yourself,
to your breath,
to God—
you are practicing the kind of hope
that heaven honors.
Words of Light
“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.”
— Lamentations 3:21–23 (NIV)
Reflection
Hope doesn’t always feel like joy.
In fact, sometimes it doesn’t feel like anything at all.
But that doesn’t make it any less real.
This kind of hope—the kind born in shadows and held with trembling hands—is sacred.
It’s the hope that anchors.
It’s the hope that returns.
Returns to what’s true.
Returns to what’s holy.
Returns to what still holds, even when you don’t.
This week, as you move through soft strength and soul-deep resilience,
may you practice returning—not because you feel full of faith, but because you know where to find it.
Let every small return be a seed.
Let every breath be a prayer.
Let every “I’m still here” echo as worship.
Pause and Consider:
What does “returning” mean for me today?
Where do I need to give myself permission to begin again?
How might hope show up through action, not emotion?
Affirmation
I return to hope, even when it doesn’t feel like joy.
I trust that faith meets me in every breath.
God’s mercies meet me—new, again, and always.
Peace,
Rita
Rita Lynn Berry, EdS, LCMHC, is a licensed clinical mental health counselor and the founder of NewVision Counseling and Consulting Services, PLLC. She is also the creator of the Journey to Me™ program and Mend n Muse Media™, where she shares tools and reflections that support healing, resilience, and self-love.