• Dana L. Butler


Hiya, my friends. It’s been two months plus since I’ve written here (accounting for the fact that my May 5th post was from my archives), and with each week that’s passed, the thought of sitting down and weaving sentences together has felt more overwhelming.

So much life has happened. So much navigating life with our boy — therapy, suggestions, triumphs and trials. So much navigating life with our girl — big emotions, big affection, big silliness, big everything.

There’s our church family, with whom we’re navigating big transitions {good ones}.

There’s the town house we own that’s been rented out up until a couple weeks ago, and at which rehab is now in full swing. We hope to get it on the market asap, sell quick, and turn around and buy a single family home in the Littleton area. In the lightning-quick Colorado real estate market, it’s not unrealistic to expect things to move fast.

Huh. Guess I’d better start packing stuff, eh?

But not yet.

Our gorgeous girl turns 3 this coming weekend, and we celebrated yesterday with family, including her birth mama and biological big bro who’ve been in town for a few days to visit. They are amazing — the way they love Maia and love us continually floors me.

This past week found me returning home from a long-awaited trip with my beautiful friend Tira, who introduced me to Ouray, Colorado and the San Juan mountains for the first time.

Oh my. Breathtaking doesn’t even come close to describing the beauty. It was so much balm to my heart.

And y’all? I relaxed. Like, I really, really let down. Sat in the sun, swam in the hot springs, checked out incredible waterfalls, and jeeped up windy, precarious 4-wheel drive trails (Yeah, baby! Bring on the adrenaline!) past treeline where the air’s thin and snow still blankets the peaks and the silence feels holy.

I sat for hours in restaurants with my sweet friend and we kind of just basked in the uninterrupted conversation, in the extended time together. In knowing and being known. Accepting and being accepted, in-proccess-ness and all.


I’ve been working out lately. Nearly every evening finds me sitting with my instrumental piano station on Pandora (because piano was my first instrument-love and I still can never get enough of it), stilling myself before Jesus as I prepare to exercise.

Breathe in, breathe out. Jesus, you’re enough for me. You satisfy (comfort, sustain, set free, shore up) my soul. Whom have I but You?

In. Out. I’m doing pushups (of the “girl” variety, for the sake of full disclosure) — 40 or so of them a night. I started out only able to eek out 5 or so. That was a solid month ago, I’m pretty certain.

Know someone who'd appreciate this?

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