In this Issue:

Diocese called to adventure not fear

Do Not Be Afraid: The Bishop's address to the 110th Annual Convention of The Diocese of Lexington

From the National & Anglican

Commentaries:

Reflection: From Different Voices

X-ercizing: Finding God in The Laundry Hamper

Diocesan Calendar

Past Issues

Reflection: From Different Voices

By Kay Collier-McLaughlin

Our grandfather’s store was the most magical place in the world. Inside the 1891 pharmacy building on Main Street in Paris, Ky., gold-tipped mahogany cabinets soared to meet the elaborate tin ceiling 14 feet above the floor. The cabinets always held special treasures, from school supplies to French perfume, gift boxes of candy and much more. A Tiffany stained glass screen separated the main sales area from the pharmacy preparation room. Along one wall, engraved brass pulls marked deep drawers with Latin medical names and more mundane labels such as “guitar strings” and “rubber bands.” Great-grandfather Dr. George Varden had the cabinetry made in South Africa, especially for this building. When my sisters and I were growing up, we would stop at the drugstore on our way home from school. Our grandfather “Dr. Jo,” the “son” of G. S. Varden and Son, was then the pharmacist. A visit with Granddaddy always meant a chance to open the special drawer where spare change was kept, and count out enough pennies for a treat. When any family member entered the store, they would call out “nobody!” – code for “It’s just us!”

After our grandparents’ deaths, the store was sold, but continued doing business as a drugstore, despite all of the chain pharmacies growing up on the outskirts of town. Although none of our family lived in Paris anymore, it was always reassuring to drive through town and see the building standing tall on Main Street, with 18 Varden 91 carved into the façade just above the third floor windows. We were more than interested when we learned that it would be sold at auction. And that is how the store came “home” to us, or we to it — I’m not quite sure which it really was. Sister Jane came from Atlanta to pursue her dream of a gallery/boutique which featured the work of artists and artisans. The local celebration was real; developers and antique dealers had been haunting the site, prepared to dismantle and disperse in the name of progress. With sister Jane as visionary and president, her daughter Sarah and sister Kay as Vice-President and Public Relations Director, a new chapter began. We were once again “the Collier/Varden girls.” Two new generations of family joined us in re-discovering the wonders of this magical place — recapturing a piece of our history.

At the Grand Opening, six-year-old Virginia Varden Newsome cut the ribbon. Like her older cousins and aunt, she was completely at home at “the store,” whether helping label merchandise, or just visiting with customers. The special drawer of pennies, nickels and dimes had its own attraction for her, and as the years rolled by, she loved introducing her little brother and younger cousins to “the store.” One by one this generation was fed and bounced and loved in the reflection of the stately old cases.

For those of us who remembered the old drugstore, it was no surprise that this incarnation of Vardens became known as “the place where kindred spirits meet.” From meetings of the downtown merchants to the start up of an arts council and knit shop and all-around good conversation which ranged from concerns about births and weddings and everyday doings to the deaths and other sadnesses of friends and neighbors, the old store reverberated with warmth and welcome. It was a small oasis of community in a growing big-box world.

Now March marks the close of this chapter of the life of Vardens. Virginia, age 10, was glad to learn that the new chapter will include the Varden name, and maintain the beautiful old cabinets and stained glass. She will still be able to visit her namesake. “But,” she said, “I won’t be able to go in the back anymore.”

The greater insight of her words brought quick tears to my eyes. Lessons from the drugstore have been gathering inside me since that bedtime conversation.

1. Naming is important. It reminds me once again of who I am and whose I am.

2. In this high-tech world, high-touch is a must if we are to live into the fullness of the relational people we were created to be.

3. In the face of a disposable, dispensable culture, continuity, ritual and tradition provide a sense of security, comfort and support from which to reach out. 4. Characteristics of genuine Christian community touch hearts and enrich lives, wherever they are found.

5. To everything there is a season — and when one chapter ends, and the “back room” is no longer ours — the essence is ours forever — to claim, to sustain and to pass on.

When we close the door next week, a huge mixture of images will both go with us and remain embedded in the bones of 509 Main Street. I see our grandfather. The hour is late. The rest of the town is settled comfortably for the night. Through the Tiffany screen, he hands a bag of medicine to the waiting man. “Thank you. Thank you. I will bring you some eggs and money as soon as I can.” And off he goes into the night.

Advocate Online Staff:

© 2005 The Episcopal Diocese of Lexington

The Advocate is mailed free to all Episcopalians in the Diocese of Lexington. The Advocate is published 10 times a year (monthly Sept.-Mid-Summer, bi-monthly Mid-Summer-June, July-Aug.) by the Diocese of Lexington, a non-profit organization.

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