Come Alongside

Last week, while Lisa and I were out of state, my phone buzzed with a message from Lucy.

It was hot at the ranch. Really hot.

Dollar General had a swimming pool for about $100.

Could she get it?

Lisa and I looked at each other.

“Sure. Why not?”

We told ourselves the grandkids and the other little ones around the property would use it too, and they will.

But the simpler truth is this:

Lucy has become part of our family.

That may be the best way I know to describe what is happening at River Rose right now.

While Lisa and I have been traveling, our little tribe took care of the ranch without us.

And they didn't just get by. They did well.

The chickens were fed. The pastures were cared for. Someone even decided the carport needed cleaning and took it on without being asked.

Lucy tackled my office. Before she started, she texted:

“Can my OCD organize your books?”

An answer to prayer. “Go for it.”

She sent pictures: shelves, stacks, and the progress she was making.

It may be a little thing, but I thought about how far we’ve come.

Not long ago, the people living alongside us were operating almost entirely in survival mode. Years of survival instincts, wondering where you'll sleep, where the next meal will come from, or everything disappearing and gone tomorrow, you learn to protect whatever little you have.

That hard reality landed hard the very next day. Lucy had gone to the store to get groceries using her father’s food stamps, but when she got to the register, the balance was gone. Zero. She called to tell us, still reeling from the embarrassment of having to walk away empty-handed. We later found out that a family member had accessed the account and wiped it clean. Lisa and I were heartbroken by the sheer injustice of it, but Lucy spoke about it matter-of-factly as if this is simply the way the world is supposed to work.

Despite the old world reaching out to pull Lucy back into that survival mindset, she’s choosing to care for something that belongs to all of us.

Moving from guarding to giving.

From looking to be helped to becoming helpful.

From living in the shadows to belonging somewhere.

Lisa and I are witnessing a real shift, a visible fruit of the labor. It confirms that this quiet, long-term journey of building trust is precisely where we are meant to be.

Lucy keeps climbing

Lucy isn't slowing down.

A bed-and-breakfast where she had interviewed called and asked her to clean rooms. She earned $80.

She called us in Colorado to tell us.

Lisa and I whooped and cheered; she'd just felt the victory of a breakthrough.

She's pursuing another job now. This morning she called and said:

“They're hiring at McDonald's. Eighteen dollars an hour. I'm going to stop and apply.”

Those calls mean something to us.

She doesn't have to check in.

She wants to.

Trust is growing.

This week she picked up her dad out of rehab.

Which brings me to Brian.

Brian is at a crossroads

Brian completed detox and three weeks of rehab.

When I talk with him, he sounds clear. Present. Hopeful.

And three weeks matters.

But Lisa and I aren't naïve enough to believe three weeks can undo more than forty years of addiction, pain, and patterns that began when he was still a child.

His doctors have also helped him understand that from the womb and years of addiction have taken a toll on his body and his thinking.

So now he faces a choice.

He can do what he knows how to do: get a job, start making money, and try to put his old life back together. Or he can do something much harder.

He can enter The Men of Nehemiah, a rigorous nine-month recovery program in Dallas designed not simply to get a man sober, but to help him rebuild his life.

We believe that is the road Brian needs. The question is whether he will choose it.

Would you pray with us that he does, and that once he walks through that door, he stays?

What this work keeps teaching us

I've been unusually blessed throughout my life. When I hit a difficult season, I have a deep bench.

Friends. Mentors. People I can call who will tell me the truth, help me think, pray with me, open a door, or simply walk beside me until I find my footing again.

Many of the people who come to River Rose don't have that. It isn't because they lack courage. Lucy has plenty.

It isn't because they don't work hard. We've seen that too.

The difference is that when they fall through a crack, there is often nobody on the other side with enough margin to reach in and help them climb back out.

And if someone stays in that crack long enough, eventually it begins to look like destiny.

I think that's one of the clearest ways I can explain River Rose.

We come alongside.

We provide a little margin. A safe place. A ride. A meal. A connection. Sometimes a job. Sometimes a difficult conversation.

And, most importantly, a relationship steady enough that when someone stumbles, they don't immediately fall all the way back down.

We are unapologetically a faith-based family, although no one has to profess our faith to belong here.

We simply keep noticing things we have a hard time explaining apart from grace.

A door opens at exactly the right time. Someone makes a phone call. A bed becomes available. A donor we've never met knows precisely the person we need to know.

And the next step appears.

Something is changing for Lisa and me, too

For years, when River Rose needed money, I knew what to do. I took another consulting project. Got on another airplane. Led another workshop. And brought the money home.

That worked.

But it also meant that the person helping fund River Rose was frequently somewhere other than River Rose. You've begun showing us another possibility.

Your giving is slowly creating a foundation beneath this work, something steady enough that I can spend less time earning the right to do it and more time actually doing it.

Walking with Lucy. Helping Brian find his next step. Sitting with someone who pulls up our drive with nowhere else to go. Creating a place where people can belong long enough to begin again.

We're planning a trip to Florida soon to visit a church-based ministry that friends of ours are part of, that has created a small “camper village” for people much like those we serve.

We don't know yet what will come of that. But we're paying attention.

Would you come alongside us?

Most of all, pray. Pray that Brian chooses the hard, good road. Pray that Lucy keeps climbing. Pray that Lisa and I have the wisdom to know when to help, when to wait, and when to let someone take the next step for themselves.

And if you're ever near Glen Rose, come see us.

We're about an hour and a half south of Dallas, along the Paluxy River in dinosaur country at the gateway to the Hill Country.

I'd offer you the guest house. But at the moment, every bed is spoken for. That's a problem we're pretty grateful to have.

We’re grateful for this season we’re in. Thank you for coming alongside us so that we can keep coming alongside them.

We'll keep you updated.

Always.

In partnership,

Rex and Lisa
River Rose