Feed Them

Five loaves, and the voice of Andrew adds, two fish. What can be done with so little when there are so many?
I as a man, believer or doubter. I as a follower, saint or sinner. What can I do to feed the multitudes begging to be fed?
A little boy with a basket of hope, the twelve entrusted with the Word and the five hundred offered a miracle made capable by the hands of the one who says, "Feed them".

copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr


You are faithful, despite my doubt. I question and make promises, covenants, with You, I am too sinful to maintain.
And yet, You are faithful.
You soothe me when I am anxious and remind me that your covenants have always been kept.
You embrace me when I am defeated. Pick me up when I have been brought low. You light the darkness around me and beckon me to follow Your ways.
You are faithful despite my denials. I cling to my notions as if they are Your will, wandering as a lost sheep.
And yet You, O Lord, are faithful.

copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr

I Need You Lord

I need You Lord.
I turn my face to the rain, asking to be cleansed, only You can wash away my impurities and transgressions, not the rain.
I need You Lord.
My enemies, my fears, are defeated by Your hand, but the storms around me are of my doing, my own creation.
I need You Lord.
Open for me, the garden's gates. Heal the wounds of serpent torn flesh and satisfy the emptiness in my soul.
I need You Lord.
From the soil of the earth I call to You, in life and death. You are the essence of my every breath. You are my God.

copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr

Two Poems (from the Collection - Pictures of the Messiah)

The Edge of His Cloak(Matthew 9.18-26; Mark 5.21-43; Luke 8.40-56)
Blood flows and weakness ensues. The strength to face my days lessens. There is little compassion for the sick if hemorrhaging scars the ailment.
This flow makes my flesh unclean and all who touch me are impure for the allotted days. As I near the moving crowd those who know of my condition move away, afraid that I might brush against them and stain them.
I have heard rumors about You. You are my final hope. My offerings have gone unanswered. My prayers have been unheard.
I struggle to reach You, using all my strength to close the distance. I want to simply touch the hem of your garment. I know You can make me well.
“Who touched me?”
Your voice frightens and sooths. I have overstepped my boundaries. I am a woman plagued with a menstrual curse and You are a man.
I have defiled You.
Please Lord forgive me, for being so bold as to reach out with my soiled hands, with fingers tainted by my own blood.
I tremble at Your feet, under Your gaze, knowing I am heale…

Some Days I Struggle.

Some days I struggle.
Do you?
I wish for tomorrow to push today aside.
I want the voice beckoning me to stillness,
to give way to silence.
I am an overeager bundle of thoughts
I cannot put to music or paper.

I want another moment,
forging its way
into the present.
I don't seek solace in today.
The Psalm I read this morning,
while my coffee was hot,
has lost its meaning
by mid-day.

In the routine of the day
my office fills with shallow voices
of faithless ideals.
Prayer is for a church,
or by your bedside,
but not where others
may be of witness.

Some days I struggle.
Do You?
I tried to read John, chapter 1
and found myself staring
at words of type
and not the thoughts
of our Father.

Today the sun shines
tomorrow it might rain.
I want neither weather pattern
to affect me.
I want to sit in a field
with one book,
written by one author,
hearing the voice of my creator
and listening to no other.

copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr

Sparrow and the Leaf

The leaf takes on the hue of autumn and the Father of all gives his consent. Just as the sparrow sings a final song before leaving this life. The LORD hears its song and is aware of its death.
The leaf, changing color and falling to the earth, the LORD has counted each one and witnessed their dances of glory, their dances of praise, their dances of worship.
The sparrows, He has bestowed upon them every song ever escaping their throats. He is the author of every note and the beauty of their songs glorify His being.
Little ones He has counted every breath to ever fill your lungs. He has made note of each tear, each smile to ever decorate your face.
Little ones change your colors gracefully, as He wills it. Dance in praise of Him whenever you sing, be it the first song from your lips or the last.

copyright 2005 - Donald P James Jr

The Fortress of the World

This world is a fortress
for unbelievers.
Those at the podium
curse God
and slander His word.
They mock His decree,
saying faith is outdated
and intolerant.

But the world
has build its castles
on sand.
It has rejected the cornerstone
which would have held firm
throughout every storm.
It has removed prayer
from its vocabulary
and peace from its heart.

In fits of anger
they curse the children of God,
with words vile,
while considering themselves to be righteous.
But the justice of the Lord
will prevail.
His compassion will tear down
the walls of sin,
softening hearts of stone.

Like a bride,
or a virgin with lamp well lit,
those who come out
from beyond the fortress
of the world
will not be

copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr