I'm not going to start this post by saying, "Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I've blogged." This opening sentence--or a variation of it--is how most of my journal entries have been started over the last 20 years. Aside from being overused, the sentence isn't really that interesting and doesn't garner a lot of reader confidence, so I will open with something more catchy.
How about: "I'm back, and still counting my blessings?"
No, this feels a bit too goody-two-shoes. And it might, too, conjure up horror movie images in which the creepy villain pops out at inopportune times with lines like, "I'm back...." Pollyanna and the Poltergeist? No thanks. I'm shooting for something catchy here, not disturbing.
What about: "So much has happened to me since last I wrote. I don't know where to start?"
No good. This missive not only turns off a reader, it makes a writer sigh heavily in near exhaustion at the thought of having to go back nine months and recount all the events she has failed to blog about--whether or not they would be of interest to her one follower.
What I will say then is this: "Spring is busting out all over."
While it may not be original, it is truly apt--and I'm not only talking about crocuses.
I have experienced a rebirth. A renewal. Even a rejuvenation within my soul ever as welcome as the first whiff of April lilacs.
I am happy. I am content. I am filled with faith and joy.
My heart is brimming with gratitude for a good husband, great kids, faithful friends, new carpet, a kitchen redo, opportunities to serve, and healthy risks that yank me out of my comfort zone.
And just as the tiny pink blossoms on my apple trees will one day produce tangible, heavy fruit, so too will the gratitude I feel alter the course of my future. Gratitude is not stagnant, it is a starting-point emotion. To be grateful is to do something about your blessed abundance.
I will therefore cut away the winter-kill in both my Hostas and my heart.
Let the sunshine of Spring heal my Sorrel and my soul.
And may the light and life of a rebirth be just as powerful a propeller in November as it is in May.
Spring is, after all, a state of mind.
Sylva
