Sweet July

by Donna Poole

Just in time for the fourth of July, the fireflies add their celebration to the nighttime skies. Maybe you call them “lightning bugs.” If you live in the west or in the New England states, you probably say “firefly.” But if you’re from the south or the Midwest you’re more likely to say, “lightning bug.” It’s kind of like you say soda, and I say pop. Or perhaps you use the generic term “coke.”

Long ago our brother-in-law, Mississippi born and bred, asked if we wanted a Coke. We told him we did.

“What kind of coke do you want?” he asked. He then offered what they had, root beer, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, and I can’t remember what else.

It’s the same with the firefly versus lighting bug, only it goes by even more names! You might be one of the people in the United States who calls it a lamp bug, glowworm, will-o’-the-wisp, jack-o-lantern, firebob, or firebug. Call them what you will; they are the same insect, but there are about 170 species of them each with its own color and flash.

I know the scientific reason for their glow, but no one can really define the magic they bring to a summer evening. I hope you’ve been lucky enough at some time in your life to stand in a large yard or in a field full of them like I was on a warm evening not long ago.  

“Look!” I said to my little granddaughter Ruby as we walked out to the bonfire waiting for us in her side yard, “Fireflies! Lightning bugs!”

She nodded and laughed. “I’ve been trying to catch some.”

No matter what you called them when you were a child you probably chased them on a warm July night, caught a few, watched them light up in the darkness of your curled hand, and then set them free. And as you watched them fly away, if you were a wise child, perhaps you felt something you couldn’t put words to yet.

When I see the fireflies, I know it’s really July. In sweet July the golden wheat waves in the fields, the corn keeps its promise to be knee high by the fourth of July, and wildflowers add colorful beauty to dusty country roads. The blue skies stretch to infinity.

July is the month for swimming in lakes and creeks, for camping and hiking, for picnics and potlucks. It’s a wonderful month for family, and friends, and fun. It’s the perfect time for picking berries and making pies.

The July days pass quickly, the golden wheat darkens, and it’s harvest time. Tomatoes begin ripening on the vine. That corn, knee high at the beginning of the month, tassels out and the earliest ears are ready. It’s best fresh picked, grilled, and slathered with butter. If the butter doesn’t run down to your elbows when you eat the corn, you haven’t put on enough.

In July, some families pack up and vacation to the beach or the mountains. Maybe they go camping, one of the best ways ever invented to make memories. If you’ve never laughed around a campfire with family or friends, munched a smore, and lingered until the last embers, you haven’t really vacationed. Keep your cruises; give me a trail to hike, a sunset to watch, and a campfire to fall asleep by.

July is a good month to be alive. But by the end of the month the days are already getting shorter; July 25 brought us our last 9 PM sunset of this year. We won’t see another one until May 28 of next year, and that’s a long way off for a girl who loves the long hours of daylight.

I’d like to ask July to linger a little longer. Oh, sweet July will return next year, but it won’t be the same July; it’s different every year, and always it glides into August so quickly we barely notice summer slipping through our fingers.  

By the last day of July, the fireflies aren’t quite so numerous in the dark corn fields. Mornings are quieter; some of the songbirds have already flown south. These are subtle reminders that all good, sweet things end—or do they?

For those who know God as he spelled himself out in the person of his Son, the Lord Jesus, the most beautiful moment we’ve known here is just a dream-shadow of what’s coming.

“All the beauty and joy we meet on earth represent ‘only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited,’” writes Philp Yancey, quoting C.S. Lewis.

And I love what Matthew Henry wrote way back in the 1700s, “Heaven is life, it is all happiness…. There is no death to put a period to the life itself, nor old age to put a period to the comfort of it, or any sorrow to embitter it.”

Today the calendar puts a period after July; tomorrow is August first. Soon enough September 22 will put a period on what we call Summer. But the day is coming, joyful beyond our wildest imaginings, when we’ll no longer have any use for that punctuation mark we call a period.

 But for now, treasure sweet July because on her best days, when she isn’t having a temper tantrum of thunderstorm or deciding to turn up the thermostat to furnace degrees, she gives us something wonderful. With her starry night skies, and fields of fireflies, with her golden wheat and ripening corn, with her generous scatterings of wildflowers, she makes us feel something we can’t quite put words to yet. We glimpse it and then it’s gone, like a firefly in the night sky. It’s music we hear in a dream and can neither forget nor remember when we wake.

Goodbye, July, and thank you. You gave us something too breathtakingly beautiful for our limited vocabulary, a feeling too deep for words. You cracked open a door and we heard it for a second. It was a whisper from that far country calling us home. Even a child can follow the road. It’s found in John 3:16.

The End

First two photos by Kimmee Kiefer

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

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