Scarlet Robe Creations

Jesus Preaching to the Crowd - Gustave Doré  Not all listened. Some heard a voice, but they didn't allow the seed to be nurtured, to take root in their hearts, those who felt their words had more bearing than His. Scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees and priests, those who learn at the feet of wisdom, unable to embrace thought contrary to their own, unable to nurture the words. Scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees and priests, the righteous who stain the streets, the pompous who beat their chests, white washed bones moaning from their tombs.  Still some absorbed the fruits, Fishermen, tax collectors and Harlots. Those who long for a kingdom of love, a kingdom of purity, and not a religion of laws. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Do not stand by the words of men. They are often flawed. They point to their way, not always His. They can become like those who tear their garments at Jesus' name, or those who pay homage to voices of denomination, and not the Word. Do not place your faith in a structure with doors locked. The spirit of the Lord has moved beyond. The veil is torn. He has shed blood and water, and He touches the brow of those who seek Him where no man's soliloquy of self speaks as Gospel. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Help us to pray for the lost, for we have walked in their midst. Help us to pray for those in darkness, for we have been unseeing and sightless. Help us to pray for those consumed by addiction, for we have tasted the bitterness of such fruit. Help us to pray for those who never sought you, for we, if not for your grace, are but wanderers. Help us to pray for those who would never pray for themselves,  for there are times when we have felt undeserving. Help us to pray for those who mock you with flags of pride, for we can often hate the sinner and ignore our own iniquities. Help us to stand up for you when the world slanders your name, for we have promised to do so and often have failed. Help us to face the light of your love, for often our lives are burdened with darkness. Help us to accept the depth of your mercy, for though we seek compassion, we often fail to recognize its presence. Help us to love, for our time is short, and you, my sweet Lord, are waiting with patience for eac...

Each word as a gift, one to never be fashioned on its own. Sentences of meaningful thought, some offer praise, some offer worship, others a prayer, or a story about a love, offered from the submission of a cross. Never could the words be sought were it not in His will. He has blessed each letter, a gift one could never earn, presented only to those who seek, those who say, mold my words, shape them as you desire. Thank you maker of days, word of light. Guide us to see the glorious amid the barren. Allow us to hear the song praising You, when the world seeks only itself  and the temptation to seek our own glory, not Yours. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

"Are you one of them?" I asked the stranger. He didn't give an immediate answer.  He came closer and asked, "Of who do you speak?" "Well, friend, your accent gives you away, and you are dressed like them.  I just made the assumption that you were in league with that party of wanderers who passed through just a short while ago.  If it is not so, sit down, kick the dust off your sandals.  The people of this village can be quite hospitable to newcomers when we are of the same mind." "Who were these wanderers?" the stranger said as he took a seat beside me on the stone wall. "Just a bunch of righteous fools.  You know how they think they are so much better than us.  You know, I heard that in a local town, one of them had a long talk with a woman who is of questionable morals... even by my standards." "A woman?" the stranger asked. "You got it, a woman.  Heard she's had herself three maybe four husbands.  I wonder, jus...

Christ and the Sinner - Andrey Mironov Ponder for a moment, when a sinner comes to the table, sobbing on the feet of He who forgives. But who among the guests has more to repent, the harlot who seeks Jesus, or the Pharisee who questions His truth? Ponder for a moment, mercy bestowed in a hand's touch. She rises unblemished, to sin no more. While the invited, who shed not a single tear, fail to understand what has been given, simply for asking. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

How eager are they, gathered in fields yearning to hear His voice, soothing to their strife, peaceful in their hectic days. How blessed are they in the courtyard, standing in the crowd, engrossed in words made flesh with a heart that bleeds. How sacred are those, speaking sonnets of love on bended knees, walking roads glorified by grace, seeking mercy for others. How eager are they, planted in good soil, who first repeated His words to the peoples of covenant, those who never knew they were loved. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Ordaining of the Twelve Apostles - James Tissot That they might stand beside Him, dusty sandals and ragged clothes, coming to village and town, not as royalty, but as paupers. That they might walk the same road, when the day bakes the flesh the night chills, and when all is done, rest their weary bodies on stone. That they might sit at table breaking bread, in the company of each other, or gather in fields with thousands of His Father's children, sharing loaves and fish. That they might share what they've learned, wherever led, whether persecuted or embraced, among those who don't know. That they might heal broken spirits and bodies, what man cannot even touch with his eyes, his hands, or his heart. That they might be stronger than demons and not be corrupted by deceit, not led to acts of betrayal, or denial, not tempted by the sin of power, or the iniquity of pride. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.good...

Just a parable of sorts... "Where are we going?" the boy asked. His question was directed to the young man, walking a stride ahead of him, who led the way along the winding path. The meandering trail wound through green meadows, full of wildflowers of various colors.  The floral ornamentation decorated both sides of the divide.  There was no other details, no scars of mankind. "This way," the young man replied, pointing in the direction they were heading, toward the horizon. "Where did we come from?" It was a question the boy had been pondering.  Just another question, but this one was formed by his mouth and spoken out loud.  Perhaps asking a question about the clover or the buttercups might have been suitable.  But some questions just need to be spilt out. The young man stopped, patiently contemplating the words uttered by the boy.  The young man was thin, not very muscular.  To the boy he appeared to be a gymnast, or  perhaps a marionette, all ...