I hope yours has, too.

I’ll see you back here whenever I have something to talk about. Maybe I’ll write a lot. Maybe I won’t. I have no idea.

But I have a feeling that this year is going to be different in all sorts of ways.

You may be wondering what life has looked like since I last blogged 9 days ago.  Or maybe you’re not (likely).  Regardless, YOU ARE GOING TO KNOW.

I wrapped up my job at Emma.
I flew from Nashville to Kansas City.
I snuggled my nephews.
I read four books in seven days:
- “One Day”
- “Room” (the best book I read all year)
- “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”
- “Incendiary”
I ate so much cheese.
I slept full nights.
I played Dance Central on the X-Box.
We made it through the first “divorced Christmas.”
Things were awkward and sometimes painful.
But we did it.
And I love my family for it.
I drove from Kansas City back to Denver with Becca.
And Greebs and Toad.
Every day I declare war against dog hair.
I bought and assembled one of these.
Zion’s adoption was made official.
He is irrevocably a Parsons.
He is the best thing that happened in 2011.
I spent multiple days cleaning and organizing our home.
Four different sets of friends got engaged (including Greta, OMG!).
I got a new phone number.
And I start my new job on Tuesday.

I rolled into the new year a burning train wreck, having spent a solid two hours of December 31st on my bed in uncontrollable tears before pulling myself up by my bootstraps, throwing my body into the shower, and willing myself to go to a few parties.  It’s been awhile since I’ve cried so hard – the honest, gasping kind of tears, the sort that leave your eyes stinging and your entire face swollen.  2011 was a kick in the gut, to say the least – and a good, long cry seemed the most appropriate way to mourn what went down, and bid the year adieu.  With a bold middle finger.

But as I stared at my puffy, snotty countenance in the mirror, wondering how I was ever going to recover enough to show my face at these parties, I remembered the part in the Bible about how those who grieve are given beauty for their ashes, and joy for their mourning, and peace for their despair.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I’m not one to go slinging around scripture insensitively – especially when it comes to the big, weighty things.  Life is too hard and people’s hearts too fragile to offer Bible verses as mere Band-Aids.

But I have to say – if it weren’t for this idea, that God takes the burning wreckage of our lives and gives us beauty instead, I would have no hope.  None.  The fact that he can take the hopeless cinder pile of my heart, and transform it into something not only worthwhile but beautiful… well, this is where I’m staking my hope.  And they say that where you place your hope, that’s where your joy will be found.

So, onward.  New year.  Same old me, but new hope.  Hopefully.

My sweetie friend Miles – the one who played guitar for my original Larabar song, the one who gave me my most favorite nickname of all time (“Persnicket”), the one who makes work so much more fun – made me this.

That?  Is awesome.  And hilarious.

Thanks for the wonderful years, Emma.  Thanks for introducing me to some of the greatest people in my life.  Thanks for the chance to make Nashville home.  Thanks for acting as training wheels for my transition to Denver, and now launching me out on my own.  Thanks for teaching me how to talk to all sorts of people, and giving me the confidence to confront conflict, and guiding me toward grace under pressure.  Thank you for being exactly the right place during exactly the right time.

I kind of feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Except for… um, her?

Really, internet?  Really?

Well, so, okay.  Second place, I guess.

As the carry-on inched toward the x-ray machine, the TSA agent observed the swollen vessel, and made a comment that he didn’t know that it would make it through the machine.

“I know!” I laughed.  “It’s about to explode!”

And right then and there, all of the air was sucked out of Denver International Airport.

The silence coddled the word like an overindulgent mother.

Explode.

EXPLODE.

I literally clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing what I had done – and then I sprung into action.

“Haha, I mean explode with my stuff.  My STUFF – nothing dangerous, nothing sharp.  I mean, except for high heels!  Haha!”

No one else was laughing.

“Ma’am, we’re going to need to take a look in your bag.”

I was led to a sterile table where a blue-gloved person (man? woman? man?) asked, “If I open this bag, will anything harm me?”

“No!  No, not at all,” I rushed.  “All that’s in there is shoes.  Oh, and a bunch of computer things.  And I guess some snacks.”

Snacks is right.

The agent slowly, hesitantly, cautiously unzipped the suitcase, and beheld the contents.  “Ma’am, why do you have so many Lärabars?”

Full disclosure: there were hundreds.

“Well, those are for my co-workers in Nashville.”

“Okay…?”

And then, without further prompting, it all came tumbling out.  “I resigned with the company – just last week, actually.  I’ve been working for an email marketing company that’s based in Nashville – but I’m switching jobs.  To Lärabar, actually.  They’re based in Denver – I live in Denver.  I just wanted to bring my Nashville friends some Lärabars – as a little farewell, I guess.”

There it was.  And there it is.

The suddenly indifferent agent waved me through security and all the way to Nashville, where I’ve given the Lärabars to my friends at Emma – an understated thank you for the three years of support, camaraderie, and friendship they have given me.

Come January, I’ll join the marketing team for Lärabar, a brand that I have been evangelizing on my own for years.  I am leaving an incredible company for another incredible company, which is not lost on me: this basically makes me the luckiest girl in the world.  This is one of those moments where I can look back and see how the complicated, jagged-edged pieces have fit together perfectly, creating a gigantic flashing arrow, pointing me toward this next step.

So my suitcase may be emptier – but as much as my heart is tempted to feel the same (after all, I am giving up what has been a very good thing), it’s actually full to overflowing.  I will spend the next week with some of my favorite people in Nashville, and then gently close the door on what has been a beautiful season in my life.

The goodbye is bittersweet, but the future feels warm and bright.  In fact, my heart is exploding with sprinkles.

Just don’t tell TSA.

But they send me pictures like this:

And I’m already wrapped around his tiny, tiny finger.

While he’s still in the hospital, the little buddy is pushing 5 pounds now, and showing a lot of healthy signs.  Your continued thoughts and prayers are so appreciated.

It’s not lost on me that the same day that my dad moved to Austin, changing the face of our family, little Zion’s adoption process was officially started – also changing the face of our family.

The bitter and the sweet frequently coexist – I’ve seen this over and over in life.  I guess I could curse the hard things for interfering with the good – but I think I’d rather just be extra thankful for the sweetness.

By Saturday afternoon, I was radiating so much heat, you could have fried an egg on my clavicle.  My mom pulled out her prescription-strength aloe – the kind they gave her during radiation (you know, when they try to kill your cancer by giving you skin cancer instead) – and I’ve been slathering myself up all week.  But even still: now, I am peeling like a Tennessee cicada.

I wish that life was that easy – when you got burned, you could just shed the damage.

But maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe we’re not supposed to just slip out of the old.   Maybe it’s time for transformation.  Maybe we should hope for a tan, instead.

And now, it’s been a year, Mom is doing awesome (cue the confetti, for real), and nothing is “officially” holding me here in Colorado.

But I’m going to stay anyway.

I’m going to staaaaaayy exclamation point!

I’m going to dig in here, and see what Denver might have to offer me, and what I might have to offer it. I’m going to move forward into the unknown, even when it’s tempting to go back to what’s familiar and comfortable.

Because trust me, both Nashville and Seattle are tempting, wonderful, good options. I have people who love me, and people that I love, and opportunities and connections and community and a heart that bursts at the thought of any number of amazing memories. I wonder if I’m crazy to make a life for myself in yet another city, when I already have ready-made lives in other states.  In a way, it’s scary to think that I’m deciding against these wonderful places that I love so much, because, as Tom Petty says, “Well, the good ol’ days may not return / And the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn.”

But, you know – I’m learning to fly.

And I can honestly, wholeheartedly say that I love my job, I love the mountains, I love my family, and I love a good adventure. Why NOT stay?

This is a good decision.

But friends?  Please come visit me.

That didn’t happen. At all. In fact, I’m checking my computer for any scraps I may have written that I could form into a full post today, and all I can find is a short snippet about watching “The Business of Being Born,” and how I could have gone my whole life without seeing Ricki Lake naked in a bathtub, and ending with something along the lines of “I prefer my birth tidy.”

And yes, I know that statement will come back to bite me someday.  Something about placenta?

What I DID write in November is three new songs, and I’m recording demos while I’m here in Nashville – starting after work tonight. The process of writing these songs was different than it has been in the past, maybe because of the long creative drought that preceded it, or maybe because I moved 1,200 miles away from the weird comparison game that goes along with living in Nashville, or maybe just because the past year has included some personal earthquakes – things I haven’t written about here, but that have rattled me in a very real way.

As a result, I have no idea if these songs are any “good” – but I know that they mean a little something to me. It feels good to have something new to share.

Sometimes life is just sad.

Don’t you sometimes wish that your old broken heart could just be made into something new?

(I’ve written about this before – but back then, I was a much better writer.  This girl’s getting rusty.  Thanks for still reading anyway.)

If you find yourself in any of these less-than-desirable places today, you are really just on the verge of a beautiful opportunity.

A chance to forgive.  A chance to trust.  A chance to be brave.

A chance to trade up for something better.

Because after all, what’s so great about bitterness and fear?

Let’s be more interesting than that.