One constant in the old western movies the cemetery is called "Boot Hill." Usually this is a small barren hill just outside of town. In this place some graves are marked with wood or simple stone and some are not marked at all. It is a place were all men are equal, rich and poor alike find their final resting place side by side. Such is also the case today, "dust to dust and ashes to ashes" or as Wordsworth put it, "from dust thou art, to dust returnth was not written of the soul."
My experience preaching throughout West Texas has shown me that the truth is much like the fiction of these movies. It is common that cemeteries are found on a small hill just outside of town. They tend to be lonely barren places with stone markers row upon row, yet even today some are unmarked. These places are quiet except the wind rustling in the leaves and grass. The sad haunting song that sings our names, echoing eerily upon the gentle breeze.
It was then on a cold wintry West Texas day that our story takes place. A day when the cold wind cuts through you like a knife through butter. A frigid wind like a spear hurled by the hand of some ancient, mythic warrior that pierces your very soul. In Aspermont, Texas I prepared for the funeral service of the father of a dear friend. A man nick named “Gimp” a rough-neck, life long oil patch worker who had drilled his last well and brought in his last barrel of crude. We awaited the slow procession, a single line of cars, winding, twisting its way out of town to that place on the hill just outside of town. A parade led as was only fitting by a Cadillac Coach. His son had some final words of advice for me as we reached that lonely hillside just outside of town.
Don turned to me and said, "Bob remember, we shall not tarry long on this hill!" Words of wisdom that have served me well for these many years. Don Mullis, you are a wise and good man, and I thank you.
Bob Phillips
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