My maternal grandmother hid knives on weekends.
Her husband drank, and when he drank, things became dangerous. My paternal grandfather was mean. He was cruel and abusive when alcohol was in him, and absent in the ways that mattered when it wasn’t.
I grew up knowing what alcoholism does to a family from the inside. I saw how hurt my aunts and father were and heard horror stories.
Later, I sat in recovery groups and watched people wrestle free from addiction through the grace of God. I saw what it cost. I watched and experienced what freedom looks like when it finally arrives.
That experience went into Redeeming Rhubarb — specifically into the character of Rhubarb himself. He drinks. He is an alcoholic. And I wanted to write that with the honesty it deserves, not as a plot device but as someone relatable and someone that grace can actually reach.
The Backstory Behind the Behavior
Stephen Covey tells a story of a man whose children are running wild on a subway car, disturbing everyone around them. Covey, frustrated, asks the father to control them. The man looks up blankly and says: “We just came from the hospital. Their mother died an hour ago.”
Covey’s annoyance dissolves instantly. Not because the children’s behavior changed — but because he suddenly understood the story behind it.
We all have a backstory. And when you know someone’s backstory, you can begin to understand why they do what they do — without excusing it.
This is why I give Rhubarb a backstory.
Without it, readers would see his prejudice, his cruelty, his abandonment of his family in the flood — and they would simply hate him. They wouldn’t want him redeemed. They might not even believe redemption was possible for someone like him.
So I add more. Rhubarb was wounded by a father who never accepted him, no matter how hard he tried to please him. He lost his brother and blamed rats who sold him drugs. He carries guilt that he has never spoken out loud. And when he later believes his daughter has died because of his own failures, that guilt compounds into something that crushes him.
None of this makes his behavior acceptable. But it makes him comprehensible. And comprehension is where compassion begins. The reader may not like or agree with what Rhubarb does, but they’ll feel compassion for his brokenness.
I also show Rhubarb at his best. He plays with his children, compliments his daughter, and shows flashes of warmth and humor. He is not a cartoon villain. Rhubarb is a broken mouse with both good and bad in him, like all of us.
The Downward Cycle of Shame
Here is something I’ve come to understand about shame — not just from Rhubarb’s story, but from my own:
We’ve all lost our true identity. We see ourselves based on our performance. If we excel in sports, we identify ourselves as good athletes. If we do well at our jobs, we identify ourselves as good workers. In contrast, if we fail, if we make mistakes, if we do things wrong, we identify ourselves as worthless.
Rhubarb sees himself as worthless. His father told him so, in a hundred different ways. His identity was formed in failure, and it stayed there.
Shame drove him to drink — to numb the pain of that identity. And when he believed he was responsible for his daughter’s death, the shame deepened. He knew drinking was the problem. But shame doesn’t drive people toward change. Shame drives people deeper into the very thing destroying them. That is the downward cycle — and it is one of the most accurate things I know about addiction because I’ve been there, I’ve experienced it.
The only thing that breaks the cycle is not willpower. It is not discipline. It is love. My accountability partners loved me. They accepted me for who I am and reminded me that I am still loved by God.
The Poem That Expresses Who I Am
I wrote this poem that wrestles with exactly this question: Who Am I? I had been an athlete. A developer of code. A provider. And as those roles fell away one by one, I found myself asking: if I’m not what I do — then who am I?
Once I thought I was an athlete. I ran cross country and track. I won awards and races. I saw pleasure on many faces. Now, being old, I can no longer run. Who I thought I was has become undone. Once I thought I was a developer of code. I wrote programs that people used and praised. People were delighted and amazed. Now, retired, I no longer code and write. Who I thought I was has taken flight. Accolades and praise, applause and awards Are what I sought, gained and lost. For what I thought was my identity, Is now gone, so who am I now? For all I thought I was, I disavow. I am not a writer. A writer is what I do, Not who I am. I am not a man, A man is my sex. It is not who I am. I am not a father. I produced, and now I raise my kids, But it is not who I am. So who am I? If I'm nothing I do? If I'm not my attributes or appearance? The answer comes from the one Who created me to be his son. In the image of God was I made It is my identity that will never fade. I am a child of the Most High God In him is my identity and whom I laud. I am his beloved son in whom he is well pleased. It is by his love my soul is forever seized. I am not worthless as I sometimes believe. I am not what I don't do or fail to achieve. I am of the highest value to the only one. I am a prince of the king, his beloved son.
The Identity That Breaks the Cycle
Rhubarb’s redemption comes not from a lecture, not from a program, not from trying harder. It comes when he finally understands that he is loved.
Barnabas keeps showing him love — consistently, at great personal cost, without requiring Rhubarb to change first. His daughter Strawberry speaks truth to him — the hardest truth, delivered with tears rather than cruelty. It is this powerful combination of truth and love that breaks Rhubarb and brings him to redemption.
He realizes he is loved. And that realization gives him a new identity.
That is the identity we all need. Not the identity formed by our performance, our failures, or our father’s voice, but the one that was given to us before any of that happened. We are beloved children of God. We are princes and daughters of the King, created in his image, bought by his Son, being made new.
In our merit-based world, that identity is almost impossibly hard to accept. But it is our true identity. And it is the only one that doesn’t come undone when the accolades stop and the roles fall away.
That’s what Redeeming Rhubarb is about. Not a mouse who was always good. A mouse who was broken in a specific way, for a real reason — and who had to decide, at great cost, to receive the love that had been offered to him all along.
To continue this conversation with your family: My free Redeeming Rhubarb Complete Companion Guide includes chapter-by-chapter discussion questions, family conversation starters, and KJV Faith Connections for all 46 chapters — available free at bobrichleyauthor.store.