Last week I told you about something wonderfully ordinary.

Lucy went to the dentist.

At twenty years old, she sat in a dentist’s chair for the first time in her life. And because of your generosity, she is now preparing to have several badly needed dental procedures completed.

Lisa already has the recovery plan mapped out: smoothies, soup, ice cream, and plenty of mothering.

It feels like another small piece of childhood being given back to her.

But this week, something else happened.

Something much harder.

And in its own way, I think it may represent an even bigger step in Lucy’s journey.

You may remember that her father, Brian, recently completed detox and rehab. When he returned, there were some encouraging signs. He found a little work. He seemed hopeful. For a moment, it felt like perhaps things were beginning to turn.

We were hopeful too.

Then last weekend, things changed.

Brian relapsed, and the situation became unsafe. I am deliberately going to leave out most of the details.

What I do want to tell you is what happened inside Lucy.

For most of her life, she has carried far more than a daughter should ever have to carry.

She has tried to protect her father. Rescue him. Absorb the consequences of his struggles. Stay loyal even when that loyalty cost her dearly.

When someone is the only parent you have ever really had, that bond can be incredibly difficult to untangle.

But this time, Lucy did something different.

She chose safety. She asked for help. She allowed other people to step in.

And perhaps most importantly, she did not take responsibility for fixing what she could not fix.

That may sound simple.

It isn’t.

In the months we have known Lucy, we have watched her take some remarkable steps.

She got a driver’s license. She’s close to finding work. She got a car. She went to the dentist.

She began imagining a life beyond daily survival.

But this may have been the bravest step yet:

She began to understand that her life is worth protecting.

That night, after things finally settled down, Lisa spent time with her; sad, exhausted and confused. But there was also a clarity we had not seen before.

For perhaps the first time, Lucy seemed to recognize that loving someone does not mean allowing their choices to pull you back into chaos.

That is a hard lesson at any age. At twenty, after the life she has lived, Lisa recognized the significance of the moment.

We are deeply saddened for Brian.

We care about him. We pray for him. We continue to hope that he will choose the help that is available to him.

But we are also learning and feeling new clarity.

We cannot control outcomes. We cannot make someone choose sobriety. We cannot repair years of hurt in a few months.

And we cannot know exactly how any of these stories will unfold. We know the backstory: you can’t help but have compassion. We won’t write him off but we can have hope, pray, remain steady, create a safe place and help with the next step.

And then maybe the next one.

That is what we are doing now. And this week, the next step is wonderfully ordinary again.

We are getting Lucy through dental surgery.

There will be soft food. A place to rest. Lisa nearby. People checking on her.

The kind of care most of us received growing up without ever thinking much about it.

And your generosity is making it possible.

You helped give Lucy a place to land when she had nowhere stable to go.

You helped her get transportation. You helped put her in that dentist’s chair.

And perhaps most importantly, you are helping create something she has rarely had:

margin.

When someone has lived in survival mode, margin changes everything.

It creates enough space to make a different choice. Enough stability to say no to chaos. Enough safety to begin imagining tomorrow.

That is increasingly how Lisa and I understand the work of River Rose.

We are not here to rescue people. We are here to come alongside them. To absorb a few of life’s blows. To create some breathing room. And sometimes, in that breathing room, something remarkable happens.

I found my eyes filling with tears when I considered the trajectory Lucy was once on. It is a sobering reminder of just how fragile a life can be, and how the weight of a few pivotal choices can redefine everything. Ultimately, we are learning that we cannot control the outcomes; we can only remain steady through the process.

But we see a young woman begin to find her footing, begin to discover that she has choices, and begin to realize that love and boundaries can live in the same sentence. And she is beginning to believe that her future does not have to look like her past.

That is what your support is helping make possible.

We rarely know what the next need will be.

A dental bill. A broken car. A safe place to sleep. A meal.

A difficult night when someone simply needs somewhere safe to land.

But because you stand behind us, we are increasingly able to say:

“Come here. You’re safe. We’ll figure out the next step together.”

Please continue praying for Lucy. Pray for healing, physically and emotionally. Pray that she continues to grow in confidence and wisdom.

And please pray for Brian as well. We still believe his story is unfinished.

For now, we are taking things one day at a time.

And this week, there will probably be smoothies.

Thank you.

Rex and Lisa
River Rose