Beauty for Ashes and Other Life Lessons
By JL Bowman
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About this ebook
The creatures in the Valley of Harmony learn a tough lesson about listening to the grumbling and anger coming over the Mountain of Tribulation.
Greener Pastures On The Other Side Of The Road
He can renew the faith of Miss Shirley Fluffytail after she is humiliated by the neighborhood bully cat. God can even use the valleys and mountains to reveal the trouble one can get into by listening to the wrong things and the pain it causes to come back to renewed life.
Sammy Solar Space Cadet
God also uses humans and space critters to do His will. Sammy Solar Cadets life long dream was to go to Earth and meet with the Eloepe.
Love of the Father
Poor Charleen has been ill for some time and cant seem to figure out that only God is the one that knows the timing of all things and they will get accomplished in His time. He is always faithful to his promises.
Truth or lie
A young man going about his daily life suddenly wakes to find he is at the gate of heaven. He begins to question his choices in life.
Lucifer: Pride goes before the Fall
A glimpse at what Lucifer was doing prior to his downfall.
Mommas Wish
A son is concerned for his dying mother whose only wish has been to have her very own Bible.
Jesus Loves Santa Too
A tale of how Jesus could use Santa as one of his own in times when the world is saying there is no time for Jesus in Christmas.
Discipline
Two brothers learn lessons of obedience when they are denied permission to accompany their mom and dad on a camping trip.
Dear Diary
A young school girl keeps a record of her thoughts towards her mother and tries to find out who really loves her.
JL Bowman
JL Bowman studied desktop publishing at the College of Southern Idaho. She later taught secretarial classes at same institution. She is now retired and spends her time writing short stories. In 2013, Bowman won two first- place awards with the Idaho Writers League. This is her fourth book.
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Beauty for Ashes and Other Life Lessons - JL Bowman
Copyright © 2012 by jl bowman.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-4759-5329-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4759-5330-5 (ebk)
iUniverse rev. date: 09/27/2012
Contents
BEAUTY FOR ASHES Rebirth After The Fire
SEA FAIRY No Place Like Home
LUCIFER Pride Comes Before The Fall
HEAVENLY DEW The Lonesome Pup
GREENER PASTURES On the Home-side of the Road
Autumn Days
Run Away
DISCIPLINE Lesson Of Obedience
Disappointment
Mrs. Sherwood
LOVE OF THE FATHER Charleen’s Fears
PLORTARIAN ADVENTURE Sammy’s Story
JESUS LOVE SANTA CLAUS, TOO
MAMMA’S WISH Which Way Do I Go?
TRUTH OR LIE
DEAR DIARY
CHRONICLES OF THE MASTER AUTO BUILDER
Called Home
Judgement Of Gambletown
Saving Of Kerri Coupe De Ville
Morning After
BEAUTY FOR ASHES
37392.jpgRebirth After The Fire
The Valley of Harmony lay at rest as the Sun began to rise over the eastern side of Mt. Peace and Quiet. The trees and flowers swayed gently back and forth while the soft breeze brushed up, over, and around each colorful petal. The summer breeze lovingly hugged the long slender steams of the yellow and white daisies as if dancing slowly to the melodic rhythm of a Mozart waltz. The yellow face of each daisy swooned behind their many white petals as they fluttered with the exhilaration of the dance.
The bright red-orange of the Indian Paint Brush blushed with excitement as the Sun crept down the west side of Mt. Peace and Quiet and traveled along the valley floor; washing every feathery, crimson finger with the warmth of its rays. Tiny yellow Buttercups held their heads high trying to be touched by the love of the Sun. They didn’t know that there would be enough love to go around for them all. The taller plants waved their long stems in the breeze allowing each of the smaller sproutlings to feel a touch of the Sun’s rays before they passed on to the next patch of greenery.
As the many cotton-soft clouds watched the serenity in the valley below, they floated across the sky. To help keep the temperature cool throughout the day, the clouds puffed out little billows of fluff to protect the many different species of plant life far below.
There is none as beautiful as one of these little ones. No, not even Solomon in all his majestic garments could compare in brilliance,
they would bellow amongst themselves.
The towering pine trees were proud to have a carpet of such beauty lying beneath their swaying branches. The trees enjoyed the fragrance that rose to meet their tingling needles. The aroma of trees and flowers mingled together brought the bees and birds to investigate the valley and to help continue the wonderful creation. Day after day the peacefulness of the valley was enjoyed by the other beings traveling the long path between the mountains. All things from the tiniest ant to the largest brown bear took nourishment from the clear blue, ice-cold stream that flowed down the mountainside to the lower levels of the vast mountain range. Each one only partook of what he needed to sustain him for the duration of his travels. He in turn, would leave behind a little of himself to help nourish and replenish what he had taken. There was a special harmony between plant and animal year after year.
On one peculiar day, the bees and birds were buzzing and singing just as they had done the many days before. The Sun’s rays were warm as they began to travel across the valley floor. In the distance the Indian Paint Brushes, Daisies, and the tall Pine trees could hear a strange rumbling beginning on the far side of Mt. Peace and Quiet. They listened intently even though they knew they shouldn’t. The busy little bees cautioned them to turn away and not listen. It will only bring discontent and trouble," they hummed. They tried to explain what they had seen on the other side of the mountain.
On the far side of the mountain, a name of Mt. Trial and Tribulation had been given. A small brownish bird with a light orange chest spoke of the way the wide leaf weeds on the other side had no respect for the natural grown herbs of the ground. The wild herbs of the ground were bigger and took over every inch of the fertile ground. The wild plants dug in and quickly took over the best soil choking and killing each variety of natural plant. The wild weeds replaced the beauty of the natural plants with their prickly bitter roots of poison ivy and bull thistles. Soon whole areas were full of the ugly wide leaves or the bright red slender leaves of the wilder aggressive weeds. These new plants didn’t care that the beauty and peacefulness of the area was being torn and thrown into disruption. All they wanted was to have their own way.
Grumbling became the common mood of every living creature on the other side of the mountain. Eventually even the soft clouds were drawn into the discontentment overtaking the environment of the neighboring mountain. The clouds’ disposition became ugly and black and they no longer floated across the sky. They each began to bump into the ones closest around them because no one wanted to be the first to move out of the way. They accumulated thicker and blacker as more and more tried to move into the same area causing more rumbling and darkness.
The birds and the bees shuddered after telling their tale and hoped that it would be enough to stop their friends from listening to the rumblings. But the small plants and trees were intrigued with the new sounds and said that life in their valley wouldn’t become like that. With all the warnings slipping into the background the natural plants of the valley leaned toward the far horizon trying to hear the words that were slowly bumping up against and climbing over the top of Mt. Trial and Tribulation. The sky was not quite as bright as it had been only an hour before. A gloomy darkness had moved in and covered the face of the Sun. The trees shivered as a cold rush burst over the top of the mountain. They were the first to feel the harshness of discontentment. They brooded and asked themselves, Why do we always have to be the first to feel the cold blasts of the winter air or everything else unfriendly.
The Daisies pulled their white petals around their yellow faces. But out from under one white petal, they looked up at the tall trees. The heavy shuddering or quaking of the trees had never before frightened the wee flowers. The huge trees looked down at the one-eyed Daisies, as they peeked from between their petals, cowering below them.
What are you looking at,
the trees rustled.
For the first time ever the little plants heard an ugly sound coming from a friend. They didn’t like the sound, but the root of rejection and bitterness had already slipped over and down into the valley. The little flowers closed up all their petals and withdrew their lovely aroma from the air around them.
The fragrance around the valley was quickly changing. It seemed as if rottenness had already begun to take over the happy valley. What was once a fertile valley was now becoming a dried up waste. The bees and birds didn’t fly through the valley any more. Flies and weeds had moved in and taken over dominion. Poison ivy crept along the valley floor smothering all the pretty little flowers who had once flourished in the rich brown soil of the valley.
Roots of bitterness and selfishness fought against each other trying to occupy the same patches of ground. A war battled on day by day while the natural plants tried to dig their roots deep into the soil. But their attempts at surviving were of no avail. Soon there was nothing left in the valley of Peace and Quiet except grumblings and anger. Black clouds hung low over the horizon and the air was suffocating. No one would have recognized it as the home of peace and harmony only a short time before.
The Sun tried to shine its warmth and love into the once lovely valley. He said unto himself, There is a flame of life left in the ground. I have kept a remnant for myself. I will once again bring life to this valley. This destruction is not unto lasting death. I will make a way out for them. They must trust me to do as I have promised.
The black rumbling clouds roared among themselves so often that they began spitting out bright hot flashes across the darkened sky. There were wars and rumors of wars everywhere, but high above the clamor there was still a hint of relief. Flashings became wilder and hotter with each passing day. The ground was dry, the vines were brittle, and trees were shedding their bark from lack of nourishment.
The last greenish Pine Needle in the highest point of the tallest Scotch Pine tree wept tears of pain and repentance. He had loved watching the little Daisies blowing in the breeze under his long green needles. He had often breathed down a scent of pine to mingle with the aromatic fragrance of the flowers. He had hung high in the air, far away from the terrible words of those below him, and wept. The birds had sat among his branches and sang the songs that lifted each life to a new height. Now he was the last needle and felt that he couldn’t hang on much longer.
As the last Pine Needle clung to the dry branch, he heard a loud crackling sound far below him. A flash of lightening had struck the pile of dry, dead needles that had fallen from the tall limbs of the tree. Smoke quickly bellowed up from the pile. In an instant a large flame jumped out from under the fragile dry collection of death. The hot flames swallowed up the dry leaves, needles, and grasses lying under the molting trees. The long searching fingers of flame grabbed the frayed gray, spindly bark that hung from the sides of the tree trunk. The flames leaped from pile to pile of dead, rotten plants.
The last little Pine Needle watched in unbelief as the once beautiful valley was being engulfed in the flames like a ravenous wild dog devouring a carcass. He felt his home tremble under the devouring flame. He knew that he would be done for very soon. He looked up at the cloudy sky and whispered a prayer to the Sun. Immediately he remembered something he had heard a long time ago. The Sun said once that life comes out of the fire of refining. And also those who are refined in the fire shall shine forth and bear much fruit. As he was shaken loose from his perch by the hot crackling flame, he also remembered that the Sun said, Unless one dies to himself, he can not live. It is a good thing for one to give his life so that others could live.
As he tumbled to the ground, the last Pine Needle saw a piece of fertile ground far below him. The fire had already burned away the dead, decaying debris. He twisted and floated and managed to maneuver his tiny body into the direction of the small brown patch of dirt. With the last ounce of his energy, he pushed his way into the soft earth.
He quietly said with his last ounce of breath, It is finished.
The black clouds couldn’t stand the bellows of thick smoke rising form the ground. They were jealous that these new puffs were taking control of the sky. The harder the clouds refused to move the stronger the new puffs became. Little by little the clouds began to loose their hold upon the cloud closest to them. Soon they were shoved and pushed in all directions bouncing back across the mountaintops. Not one was left knit together. Their darkness had lost its control of the sky. The brilliant light of the Sun was waiting and able to pour his love back down on his natural herbs of his ground.
The Sun that had been shinning brightly above the black, angry clouds was now able to shine his bright light deep into the blackened valley. He looked down and said, Beauty for Ashes.
As he smiled he poured healing rain upon the empty valley.
Day in and day out the Sun sent his warming rays into the valley. Occasionally a rumble was heard passing overhead, but its tears would be shed down onto the blackened terrain below. The roots of bitterness or envy hiding behind the lining of the clouds were not allowed to be bottled up for any length of time.
Birds sang the song of how bitterness causes death and the Bees buzzed the tale of how death comes from listening to the rumblings of things that don’t concern you. The tale of the valley was known for miles and miles.
The gentle winds blew seeds of life from flowers and trees from across the oceans