All week long, I look for . . .
and on Fridays, I report back.
Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a habit that becomes spiritual muscle memory. It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.”
– Krista Tippett
I read the quote (above) from Krista Tippett early this week, and it's been hanging there in my head ever since.
I don't know that I would ever have put those two terms next to each other.
But now I do!
When I think about "muscle memory" I think about all those things I just do automatically, but that were hard for me at one time.
Tying my shoes.
Executing the long-tail cast-on.
Threading my sewing machine.
Moving through a vinyasa.
French braiding hair.
Doing a dead lift.
But with enough repetition and practice, I can do any of those things without even thinking about it now.
Perhaps it's that way with hope, too?
These days, feelings of hope and feelings of no-hope-at-all swing wildly in my psyche. And yet . . . I still go through the automatic actions of someone who is full of hope for the future.
I plant bulbs in my garden.
(Hoping for a future spring that is thick with daffodils!)
I work out every day.
(Hoping for that day 20-some years in the future when I can pick myself up after a fall!)
I wind yarn.
(And dream of the sweater that will keep me warm and cozy at some point in the future!)
Just going through the motions . . . of hope.
It turns out that even when there are . . . things, situations, people . . . who challenge my hope-filled nature, I know that down deep, I've still got hope. It's there. Even when I don't think about it.
It's my spiritual muscle memory at work!
My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace, time to rest -- and things that bring you joy.
Hang in there.
Try to find some time to let your spiritual muscle memory do its thing.
PS -- Just in case you're having severe anxiety about the election, I wanted to pass along this link to an article that came out yesterday in The Atlantic. A good reminder . . . that 2020 is not 2016. It gave me a little . . . hope. (At least for a mintue.) Maybe it will give you some, too.