All Hands on Deck

Last week, almost everybody at River Rose had a hand in getting ready for one important day.

We had offered to host the board of Protect the Paluxy Valley for a full-day strategic planning retreat. Their work is to protect one of the most remarkable places in Texas, the Paluxy River, the dinosaur tracks, and the gateway to the Hill Country right here in our backyard.

I would facilitate the day, but before the board arrived, the place had to be ready.

And that took all hands.

While I was in Dallas leading a workshop, Buddy took charge of the grounds. He mowed, trimmed, hedged, serviced the tractor and zero-turn mower, and moved the overflow from the barndominium into the barn.

By the time our guests arrived, the property looked cared for.

Maria, who cleans cabins at a nearby RV park, came over and deep-cleaned the guest house.

Our son Nathan and his girlfriend, Kelsey, planned and prepared the food. Both have years of hospitality experience and are beginning to dream about a business of their own, so this gave them a chance to use their gifts and us a chance to encourage them.

My friend Travis Gates drove in and donated his time. Travis is a former Apple e-commerce designer and one of the clearest thinkers I know when it comes to nonprofit messaging. He reviewed Protect the Paluxy Valley’s website and helped the board see how to tell its story in a way the rest of us can understand.

By the end of the retreat, the board had greater clarity about what they are protecting and why it matters.

It was a very good day.

But the most important thing that happened may have begun two nights earlier.

To prepare the guest house for the meeting, Lucy needed to pack up some of her belongings and temporarily move them into storage.

It was only for one day.

We explained that.

But something deeper had already been stirred.

With Brian no longer living beside her, Lucy was already feeling exposed. Packing her things awakened an old fear we had not fully seen: the fear that she was about to be pushed out again.

For someone who has had a stable home most of her life, moving a few boxes for a meeting is an inconvenience.

For someone who has been essentially homeless since she was four, it can feel like the beginning of losing everything.

Lucy was up for two nights, sick and throwing up.

That was when Lisa understood that this was about far more than preparing a room.

So for the next two days, Lisa worked beside her.

They packed. They cleaned. They talked.

Lisa reassured her that the meeting was temporary, that she was wanted, and that we were not quietly preparing to send her away.

Lucy helped set the space for the retreat, and somewhere in the process, the work itself began to steady her.

Lisa and I learned years ago that some of the deepest relationships are not built sitting across from one another talking about trust.

They are built side by side.

Folding towels. Moving boxes. Pulling weeds. Preparing food.

Doing something that needs to be done together.

By the time the board arrived, Lucy was no longer simply the young woman whose things had been moved.

She was one of the people who had made the day possible.

That distinction matters.

We are still working toward more stable, permanent housing for her. The guest house was never intended to be the final destination. But we are also learning that moving someone toward independence cannot mean recreating the very abandonment they have spent their life surviving.

The next step has to be more than a new address.

It has to feel like a future.

That same week, we also received encouraging news about Brian.

We are praying he will say yes to The Men of Nehemiah, a demanding nine-month recovery program in Dallas. After our last letter, one of you contacted us and said you personally know the founder. You helped open the possibility of a bed for Brian if he is willing to take it.

Beds in programs like this are hard to find.

You opened a door we could not have opened ourselves.

That is one of the remarkable things happening through River Rose.

A man living in the bunkhouse prepares the grounds. A young woman rebuilding her life prepares the house. Our children prepare the table. A marketing professional gives away his expertise. A donor opens a door into recovery.

And together, a small community creates something none of us could create alone.

Now let me be straightforward about where we are.

Preparing the property, clearing fleas from the guest house, repairing the mini-split, paying a $990 utility bill, feeding people, maintaining equipment, and covering the ordinary costs of hospitality have drawn our reserves down to the bottom.

Part of the mission of River Rose is to give away what we have—our property, our table, our professional experience, and our presence—to people and organizations doing important work.

We want to keep saying yes.

But we cannot do that by ourselves.

Last week, the board of Protect the Paluxy Valley told us they had never experienced a day quite like the one they had at River Rose.

They came for a planning retreat.

What they encountered was a community.

And you are part of it.

In partnership,

Rex and Lisa
River Rose

P.S. Lucy’s belongings are back in place, and she knows the barndominium is still her home for this season. We are continuing to work toward stable housing with her, not simply moving her somewhere else, but helping her move toward a life she can believe will hold.