Warm June sunshine beams down upon hills that are ready for summer, after the wetter than usual springtime weather.

The pale yellow and white blossoms of the viney honeysuckle cover road bank and hillside alike with their unforgettable fragrance. Fields of common daisies stretch in every direction, and the newly mown lawn exudes the scent of sweet clover and crushed peppermint.  A curtain of blue sky overshadows Pilot Knob, and there is a feeling of peace and serenity in the atmosphere.

Twilight shakes a soft blanket of mist around the shoulders of our hills, as night approaches at the close of this early June day. It has been a satisfying spring day, a tantalizing invitation to summer. The air bears the scent of summer — the sweet smell of drying hay in the fields; a mingled fragrance of tangy wild onions and sweet clover. The sun is beaming down hotter each day on the early garden crops, and the leaves on the trees are fuller and greener.

Late evening is the best part of the day. Deepening shadows creep along the creek and darken the hollows between the hills. Lightning bugs sparkle suddenly in the darkness, tiny beacons of light that announce the soon coming of summer. Sitting on the porch, the cares of the day seem to melt away as we listen to the night sounds.

Frogs croak in a never-ending chorus from the pond, interspersed with the querulous cry of the tree frogs. From a distant hill, the plaintive call of the whippoorwill floats on the cool air, and a line from a song that Daddy used to sing come to my mind:  “The catbird calls, and the sleepy whippoorwill/The tune of the moon goes behind the hill.”  How I miss Daddy when the whippoorwill calls . . .

June is the month for nostalgia and remembering. It is a month of roses, daisies and vining honeysuckle. It is graduation time, weddings and Father’s Day. There are class reunions, family reunions and wedding anniversaries. Each year brings a new crop of eager graduates, proud and tearful parents, and relieved teachers.

The exodus of our grandchildren is almost finished, and the great-grandchildren have begun to cross the stage to receive their diplomas. It will be two or three (and more!) at a time to meet the world head-on. My heart quivers at the thought, but there is no way that we can shield them from the cares and responsibilities of adulthood. I look at the little ones now, with carefree hearts and light spirits, playing their childish games, and wonder what will become of them.

Sometimes I think it is almost easier to watch our own children begin their faltering flight from the parental nest than it is to let our grandchildren go. My cousin, who was agonizing over her oldest grandchild who was planning to leave the state to find work, reminded me of something that my mother told me. In my pre-grandchild days, I blithely expounded her theory, “It’s nature’s way to wean our children from the nest. Teenagers get hateful and rebellious so that we can relinquish our hold on them. If they stayed the sweet, innocent babies who are completely dependent upon us as parents, we could never bear to let them go out on their own. It’s nature’s way to make the parting easier.”

While it is true that we sometimes heave a sigh of relief mingled with regret, she found that this didn’t hold true with her grandson. I’m afraid that I am finding it difficult myself. When a grandchild gets in trouble, it brings out the maternal instinct in full force. You want to cuddle that wayward child, and make the way easier for him. That is not the answer, however. They have to learn that for every wrong action, there is a consequence that must be paid.

We are blessed in having most of our children and grandchildren right around us. The same hills that hold me fast are also holding them. We are relatively isolated from much of the inner city problems, the crime, violence and actual dangers. Their playground is the open countryside, and the woods and hills. Living close to nature brings a dimension to their lives that is missing to city children.

However, they are growing up in a vastly different world than we did as children. They are faced with pressures that we never dreamed of, and surrounded by a much different atmosphere. They are more advanced in knowledge, sophisticated in culture, and mature for their years. They are growing up in a world where crime and violence are rampant, corruption in government is commonplace, and wickedness abounds in high places.

What can we, as parents and grandparents, do? We can pray. In this fast changing world, the only unchanging thing is the Solid Rock, Christ Jesus. We pray for God to hold our young ones in His hands; we pray for their parents to have the wisdom to direct their children in the right way, and to instill in them a love for God and His teachings that will lead them to salvation. We pray for the children to find that Anchor early in their lives; the Anchor that holds us steady when the world is in turmoil.

The measured beat of time has brought June to us once more. It is a time for love, for memories, for living. Let us make the most of it.

HOLD FAST TO THE RIGHT

Come and sit by the side of your mother, my boy,

You have only a moment, I know,

But wait ‘til I give you this parting advice,

It is all that I have to bestow.

Chorus:  Hold fast to the right, hold fast to the right,

Wherever your footsteps may roam,

Oh, forsake not the way of salvation, my boy,

You have learned from your mother at home.

I gave you to God in your cradle, my boy,

And taught you the best that I knew,

And as long as His mercies permit me to live,

I shall never stop praying for you.

You will find in your satchel a Bible my boy,

It’s the book of all others the best,

It will teach you to live and prepare you to die,

And will lead to that home of the blest.