A Church That Built A Legacy
“As a child, it’s easy to believe that the things you love will never change, that summer will always come, and that the people you love will always be there. But time, of course, moves on. Seasons shift, and childhood gives way to adulthood.”
— Becca Moore, Angel On A Bridge
In 1939, the little church in Clayhole, Kentucky opened its doors for the very first time. My Aunt Eddie was there for that first service as a young girl. Generations of our family worshipped there, married there, prayed there, and served there. My great-grandfather even helped build the pews with his own hands. It wasn’t just a church—it was part of our family’s foundation.
Then came July 2022.
A devastating flash flood swept through Clayhole and all of Breathitt County with little warning. Lives were changed forever. More than 600 helicopter rescues took place, along with countless water rescues. By God’s grace, my precious Aunt Eddie, my cousin Karen, and Jim were rescued. My cousin Tyler walked for days before he could finally reunite with his family, while so many of our relatives worked tirelessly to help neighbors and strangers alike.
When the floodwaters receded, the church stood scarred. The pews my great-grandfather had built were buried in mud and destroyed. It was heartbreaking to witness.
But God wasn’t finished.
After four years of faithful hands, generous hearts, and a community determined to rebuild what generations before them had started, the doors opened once again on Sunday, June 28, 2026.
Seventeen members of our family gathered with Aunt Eddie to walk back into that little church.
I found myself holding back tears as I watched her smile and clap while the guitarist led worship.
Everything looked different.
The wooden pews had been replaced with soft cushioned chairs. Karen’s familiar piano was gone, replaced by a keyboard. The sanctuary was more modern than I remembered.
But then I realized something.
Buildings change. Furniture changes. Time changes.
Faith doesn’t.
The same message that echoed through those walls in 1939 still echoed there today. We are called to love. To serve. To give so that others may live. My Uncle Phil reminded us of that during the dedication service.
The flood changed the building, but it couldn’t wash away the memories, the prayers, or the legacy. Just like the original pillars that withstood the storm, the foundation remained.
Our family’s story began in many ways inside that little church in Clayhole. Sitting beside Aunt Eddie—who looks more and more like my Grandma Combs every year—I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming gratitude. She lived to see those doors reopen. I know that meant everything to her, and to the generations of Combs and Landrum family members who came before us.
I’m also incredibly thankful Nate was there to witness what this day meant to our family. Some places become part of who you are, no matter how much time passes.
May we never forget where we came from.
And may we always remember that God welcomes us just as we are.
Come as you are. ❤️