Although it probably should be, June is not my favorite month; that would be October. For reasons unknown to me, I am enamored of autumn above all other seasons. But on a recent evening as I walked in the humid gloaming, I considered the many faces and the sure fate of comely June.
June traces the lightning bug's glimmer, the cicada's whir, and the susurrus of warm wind in full-leafed overreaching branches to where time lapses into a pink-hued memory of effortless days. June at its coolest is a languid float in sparkling water; June at its hottest is the ronron of the pool pump and the clack of busy squirrels in tall pines.
June of all the months casts the tenderest, most wistful glance backward, and does it with dewy singing eyes. Sequestered in the soul of June is all the poignancy of all the love that ever was. Its roses, its moons, its skies, its blossom-scented air, its very existence summons belief in the all-wise God who put into motion all of June's excesses and all of its romances.
In June's going is the first peeking tendril of winter.
My Savior found me on a June night in 1971 at Camp Stallion in St. Helena Parish, Louisiana. I had never heard the gospel presented until the moment when Brother Miller, Youth Director of Weller Avenue Baptist Church in Baton Rouge, told the group of teenagers assembled around a marshmallow-roasting fire of The One Who had died to take away their sins.
I don't remember if anyone besides me believed on Him that night; I only know that I did.
When June moved on, so did our fractured little family ... to Atlanta, that is, where at Forrest Hills Baptist Church I was baptized in obedience to Christ's command. On June 16, 1979, I became a happy bride only a few feet from the baptismal waters where I had professed my faith eight years before.
For thirty Junes it has been my privilege to be the wife of a precious Christian man ... and the fortunate mother of our four children, who serve the Lord even as adults. June, the midpoint of every swift-footed twelvemonth, distinctly reminds me of something I cannot afford to forget: the miraculous goodness and longsuffering of God.
And so to me, June's beauty and grace softens the calumnies of mankind ... if only for a moment. In an untouched June morning resides the clear light of forgiveness. June with its eager ambivalence embodies the siren call of wanderlust, the promise of adventure, the happy fact of a lengthy journey completed.
A June dawn beckons. A June day bestows. A June evening blesses. A June night beams. June's outrageous lambency and utter truthfulness increases flagging faith and soothes the bitter gall of heartbreak.
June's plangent song rides smoothly on its own fragrant breezes, heavy with nostalgia. June coos to its infants, laughs with its children, whispers to its brides, counsels courage to its aged, mourns with its dying. June inspires the poet, the lover, the artist, the builder, the naturalist, and the child of God.
When June at last languishes it lays to rest a measure of summer's innocence. June is a trembling novice, a brave knowing soul, a seasoned conspirator. June's gentle advances tune our beings to July's intemperate excesses, prepare us for August's overbearing and overlong contention.
June remembered is an unhurried embrace, a beseeching look, the final caress of a departing love. June forgotten is still, silent bells and an empty shell-strewn shore.
In June's going is the first peeking tendril of winter. Where Junes go, down light paths and dark, we follow.
And the glorious beauty, which is on the head of the fat valley, shall be a fading flower, and as the hasty fruit before the summer; which when he that looketh upon it seeth, while it is yet in his hand he eateth it up. In that day shall the LORD of hosts be for a crown of glory, and for a diadem of beauty, unto the residue of his people. ~Isaiah 28:4-5
At the behest of an editor who is kindly considering using this piece in a Christian publication, I have added inspirational material to the original A Rune For June which was written and first posted on IHATH in 2007. What was once a purely poetic piece now contains my personal testimony! If you've already read it and don't care to re-read, that's fine. But if you do, and to all who happen upon it for the first time, I hope it will be a blessing to you today.