When my grandfather was in his mid thirties, he left the coalmines of Mclean County and began a new occupation. With the help

When my grandfather was in his mid thirties, he left the coal mines of Mclean County and began a new occupation. With the help of his wife Mary and his children he would open a country store in the community of Guffy Kentucky. Later, this business would expand to include a trucking line, which hauled livestock to Evansville, Indiana and returned to Mclean County loaded with all kinds of freight.

The trip would take 15 hours and would necessitate traversing not only twisting rural roads to pick up livestock, but also include crossing the Green riverby ferry at Ranger's Landing. The decision to leave coal mining would affect not only his life, but also the lives of his children and grandchildren. Indeed, Roger Tichenor, Sr., my grandfather, started a new family tradition that would open up many new doors for the Tichenor family. As with all pioneers, he had a vision for the future and the courage to follow it.

In 1921, he opened the Guffy General Store. The trucking line was started in 1927 and both continued successfully through the Great Depression. In this small rural village, the store became the centerpiece of trade and social interaction, for the farmers, and later, during the oil boom of the 50's, the oil-well workers.

The rural General Store is today, for the most part, a thing of the past. At one point in history, however, it was the place to go for almost anything one needed. The closest thing in concept, but not in size or intimacy today, would

be the Wal-Mart Superstore. In reality, the recent appearance of these huge one stop stores is not a new and inventive concept, but a return to the days when you could go to town and get not only groceries, but also anything else, from a keg of nails to a new pair of shoes.

At the time of my earliest memories, the Guffy store was a long, narrow building with a covered concrete front porch with wooden benches, large plate glass windows, and floors of oak planking that were soaked with oil periodically to keep the dust down. The store was filled with open rows of shelved cases, which held all sorts of dry goods, from bib overalls to work boots. These cases filled the center of the first half of the room. Lining the walls were glass-encased cabinets containing dishes, small appliance like toasters and electric fans, clocks and other assorted things.

In the very center of the store was the check out counter and a huge potbelly stove. From this point to the back of the store, shelves of groceries were to be found along with large chest type freezers full of meat, ice cream and thanks to my two oldest cousins, an occasional frozen cat. The very back of the store was reserved for refrigerated products like meat and milk. At lunchtime, the place became a restaurant of sorts. Local farmers could feast on thick bologna sandwiches and cans of sardines and crackers washed down with a bottle of Coca-Cola.

Off to the left side upon entering the store was a separate room that ran the length of the whole store. I loved to go in this room as it always held a sense of mystery for me. In addition to the shovels, hoes, rakes, tillers, lawn mowers and other tools, all sorts of odds and ends could be found. Generally anything that was no longer useful, but still good enough to keep was stored in this room. For me, it was a museum of a time since past. In here were boxes of old newspapers and some old photographs as well as discarded personal items belonging to my closest relatives.

The Guffy store was not only a place of commerce, it was also a favorite gathering place for several of the older, semi-retired farmers, or "loafers" as my grandma affectionately called them. For a young boy, these old men provided hours of entertainment as I'd sit and listen to their tall tales and lies. It was here that I would learn a great deal of history, not only of my own family but also those of neighbors and friends.

There was also quite a bit of good-natured teasing going on. At times, perhaps this jesting crossed the line into meanness, but for the most part, no one got especially upset. One exception might have been the ongoing teasing by my Uncle Gene of an old, semi- retarded man named Barney Brown. Gene, who Barney called "baby boy" because he was the youngest in the family of six children, would tease Barney on a daily basis. I suppose this had been going on since long before I was born, but I can remember one standing joke that Gene would pull on Barney.

Barney was not particularly fond on water, specifically bath water. In fact, I doubt that he ever bathed. His little two-room trailer did not even have a bathroom as evidenced by the wooden outhouse next door. Barney's overalls as well as his weather-creased jaws were always stained with tobacco juice. I'm sure my grandmother saw to it that the coveralls were washed on a regular basis, but as for Barney himself, he was probably counted as a lost cause in this area.

One of baby boy’s favorite pranks was to sneak up behind Barney and drop a bar of soap into one of his coverall pockets. When Barney discovered the present a bit latter, it always lead to a string of unintelligible profanities in which "baby boy" were the few recognizable words. I suppose in the end, no real harm was done here. Barney always seemed to recover from such teasing and didn't appear to hold a grudge. All the same, it probably wasn't the best example for the young eyes that took all of this in.

Like the store, Barney and Gene both are no longer among the living. Barney was the first to go, followed by the closing of the store, and many years later, Uncle Gene died of cancer. Those who knew them miss all three of them, but life goes on. Nothing in this world will last. One day, this creation will be folded up and caste aside like some of the store's old merchandises that was left behind because no one wanted any of it.

Like many things in this material world, that old store and all of its activities can be seen as an imperfect pattern of something much more real and lasting. In God's perfect plan, the church, or more precisely the assembly of believers, should be a place to come, not only for spiritual survival, but also for the community and heritage. We humans need this for a sense of permanence in an every changing and threatening world.

Many of the needs that I had as a boy, which were met imperfectly at the old store, are now met in my life as I gather with my spiritual family. Our church, although relatively large, has been fairly successful in becoming a family. I know that this nation has a history of strong church life, but perhaps we have missed the Lord's complete plan. In restricting our "church life" to a Sunday/Weds kind of existence, we also restrict the life giving flow that comes to us in the body of Christ. As in our human bodies, the fellowship of believers is the blood flow of life that cleanses, refreshes and renews our spiritual bodies.

Possibly the most serious flaw of the modern American church, is that it has become a spiritual Wal-Mart Superstore. Believers rush in to get what they need and rush right back out completely satisfied, as long as all of the checks out lanes were open and they weren't held up on the way out the door. Instead of the old country store, where one could find true fellowship on a daily basis, we have become an ever-isolated nation of people who have less and less real contact with others.

It is no wonder that our society seems to be coming apart at the seams.The structures that once held us in check are crumbling. Relativism breeds contempt for law or any other type of restraint. To many, the arguments based on Natural Law and Absolute Truth seem foolish. I have heard it said that there is nothing new under the sun and that history runs in cycles. I suppose this is true, but I pray we might turn this tide in our nation. True revivals truly change cultures and I don't believe that we have reached the point of no return.

The old county store of my grandfather still stands though it has been empty for many years. Likewise, many of the old structures on which our nation was built also still stand. It may not be too late to rebuild those walls. At the very least, we should give it our best effort.