It’s called Casey Brook Hill. When I drive over the top, my hometown comes into view. The two rivers are seen joining hands there. Also, the island where my forefathers first settled can be seen in its entirety. One mile later is the old schoolhouse where I spent thirteen years of my life. Traveling on, I pass all the old swimming holes of my youth. If Joe South were singing “Don’t It Make You Want to Go Home Now” on the radio, I think I would burst into tears.
Geographically, nothing has changed. However, the generation before mine is in the cemetery, along with some friends I grew up with, and we, like the song says, are “knocking on heaven’s door.”
For “All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.” And this word is the good news that was preached to you.
Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.
Think about it.