Hope Is a Muscle—And We’re Still Strengthening It

A Black woman in lavender activewear walks slowly along a peaceful beach at sunrise. Her posture is upright and calm, embodying quiet determination.

Hope isn’t a wish—it’s a practice. A quiet, persistent muscle that grows each time we choose to believe again. Today, we honor the sacred work of showing up with faith, even in the waiting. Even in the stretch. Even when it’s hard.

Hope Is Not a Feeling—It’s a Faithful Return

A Black woman sits peacefully near a sunlit window, holding a mug in both hands, with an open book beside her on a wooden nightstand.

Hope doesn’t always feel like joy. Sometimes, it’s simply the decision to return—to your breath, to God, to yourself. This kind of hope isn’t loud, but it’s faithful—and it’s enough.