Snow White

We call Lucy “Snow White,” because animals find her.

In the last few weeks alone, there was the puppy thrown from a car. Lucy stopped, scooped it up, and found it a home by handing it through a drive-thru window.

Then came the kitten curled up inside the engine of her Volkswagen.

A newborn fawn standing beside its dead mother down by the river. Lucy carried it home in the trunk of her car.

And now, a Giant Flemish rabbit that can’t survive the Texas heat is living in our downstairs kitchen.

Somebody, somewhere, is always placing something small and helpless into Lucy’s hands.

And she never says no.

If you’ve been following Lucy’s story, you know how far she has come.

A few months ago, she was living in a tent beside her grandfather’s van with her dad, Brian.

Since coming to River Rose, she has earned her driver’s license, gotten a job, and begun to imagine a future that once seemed impossible.

She is bright. Capable. Hardworking.

She has made more progress than anyone had a right to expect.

But there is another story unfolding underneath this one.

And it is the reason I’m writing.

Lucy has been essentially homeless since she was four years old. She didn’t meet her father until about five years ago.

You might think a girl who lost her childhood to one addicted and absent parent would protect herself from going near that kind of life again.

Lucy did the opposite.

She has spent every ounce of herself trying to rescue her dad, a dad she didn't know existed until five years ago.

Brian is a good man carrying a terrible weight: grief, regret, and a lifelong struggle with alcohol that began when he was still a child.

This past month, things got worse.

There have been hospital visits. Frightening symptoms. Warnings that his body cannot continue carrying this load.

And Lucy has been there through all of it.

Driving him to the hospital at four in the morning. Sitting beside him. Waiting. Refusing to leave.

Then Lucy was offered something remarkable.

A steady job and a place of her own within reach.

A chance to begin building the life she deserves.

And she walked away from it.

Because taking that opportunity felt like abandoning her father.

Lucy would rather go down with the ship than let him sink alone.

That may be the most heartwarming, and most heartbreaking, thing about her.

The same tender heart that rescues a fawn from a riverbed cannot bring itself to let her father give up, even when he seems bent on self-destruction.

Lisa and I are learning that the work we do at River Rose has three parts.

There is rescue. Getting someone off the street. Out of the cold. Into a safe place.

There is restoration. A driver’s license. A job. A car. Skills. Eventually, a home of their own.

But between rescue and restoration is something far more difficult.

Redemption.

The change of heart no amount of money, effort, or love from us can manufacture.

Only God can do that work.

Our part is to stay. To keep loving. To tell the truth. To clarify the choices.

And, to hold the door open long enough for someone to choose to walk through it.

And this week, something happened.

Through tears, Brian began to see what Lucy could not make him see.

If he continues down this road, he may leave his daughter alone all over again.

His own father had recently died. Before he died, he asked Brian to stop drinking.

Now Brian is beginning to understand that the greatest gift he could give his daughter may be to finally do what no one else can do for him.

Choose life.

As I write this, we are searching for a place that can help Brian safely detox and begin treatment.

And we are standing beside Lucy at a crossroads.

We don’t know what Brian will choose.

We don’t know whether Lucy will be able to release the responsibility she has carried for so long.

We are living in the uncertain middle of their story.

And that is exactly where staying connected with us matters.

Help often arrives and rallies for the rescue. Some returns for the restoration. But very few people stay through the long, uncertain middle.

You've stayed with us through these periods.

We so appreciate your prayers and encouragement. We've been able to provide a safe place, transportation, food, practical help, and, perhaps most importantly, the time and presence it takes to walk beside people when there are no easy answers.

When you give to River Rose you are helping us see someone through the journey, not just in a moment of need.

We don’t yet know how this chapter of Lucy’s story ends. There is a new chapter for Brian I will update you on in the next letter.

But we believe God is at work in the middle of it.

And we would be honored to have you standing there with us.

In partnership,

Rex and Lisa
River Rose