Scarlet Robe Creations

For the saying is true, 'One sows, another reaps John 4:37 Seeds planted in sporadic rows. Unevenly gathered along the soil. Does the planter whistle a tune as he throws seed into the air and prays for the harvest? Seedling to sprout, the gentle rains and the warm sun are the givers of nourishment. Life, as the creator bestows upon the earth and in the heavens, rising up in glory in answer to a psalm. Fruits of harvest, the reaper labors. He takes to the fields in the sun's warmth whistling a tune, not unlike the planter's song. An unspoken lyric giving glory to the giver of good things. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

James Tissot - He Sent Them Out Two by Two The fire crackles, a lyric of dry wood.  I pick up the fish, a remnant of the day's catch, while studying my calloused fingers.  Silas sits across from me.  His eyes reflect the flames against the dark sky.  Our acquaintanceship has been short, but we've been paired up.  One group of two, to be sent out. "Why do you think we were placed together?" I ask, licking a stray piece of white meat from my fingers. "Haven't thought about it," Silas replies. Tomorrow we will begin.  Tonight we eat.  Tomorrow we will take nothing.  We will travel hungry and thirsty.  We will eat only what is offered by those who are not wealthy.  We will lay hands on the sick, and speak to them about a kingdom that is to come, a kingdom we know little about. "We barely know each other," I decide to add. "You seek too many answers.  Why does there need to be any rhyme or reason to what the master says.  Think of w...

In the quiet, where the Lord whispers, where the words of prophets are made clear. In the quiet, when thoughts are pure when humility is encompassing, an embrace of peace. In the quiet, where we sit or kneel, where we focus on Him and forsake us. In the quiet, when the world leaves us and Jesus demands that every storm cease into silence. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

For it is not with things of this world that come and go, leaving desire for the touch of such. It is neither with gold or silver, nor jewels of a pompous king. You have not been ransomed by the wealth of worldliness, but by the blood of He who bore your sins on the wooden beam. He who stood before Pilate, and withstood judgement. He who committed no wrong. He who is righteous. He who says, "I am." copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

We had scaled to the highest point.  An outcropping looked out over a valley below and a small village. "I have lived there most of my life," my friend said, pointing a crooked finger toward the small settlement.  He had at least three decades on me.  He never shared his actual age, but his gray hair, wrinkles and wisdom gave him away. "It is where many come to raise their children.  There is little to be concerned of down there." "That's why we moved here," I replied. He took a deep breath of the mountain air and stated, "It is, however, difficult to not become complacent." I wasn't sure what he meant by that, 'complacent'.  I didn't give a response, so he continued. "The good life.  The peaceful life," he said. "It causes us to think we are on the brink of paradise.  We are not.  We are farther than most.  We bear little weight.  The scaffold on your back is but a piece of kindling.  You barely feel its burden...

Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. Hammer, spikes, a tree lifted up, a helmet of thorns piercing His flesh. Gentiles given authority by their creator. Political pawns who may one day see what they have done. Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise. A thief, one thrust upward, beside the son. A lost sheep, rescued from his wandering. A promise of eternal life, for asking. Woman behold your son.  Here is your mother. Compassion,  even in the hour. A trusted companion, a son of thunder. The one who leaned close, deeply troubled, and asked about betrayal. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Jesus quotes a psalm from of old. A song of prophecy a poem describing every wound He has chosen to bear. I thirst Mouth dried, tongue thick, He has eaten the dust of creation. Just one swallow of water, but sour wine is offered, to quench. It is finished. A ministry too short, the serpent strikes the heel. Death ends suffering for the afflicted, for the o...

The Calling of Saint Matthew - James Tissot I had returned from a laboring journey.  Activity in the small fishing village, I called home, was full of excitement.  I asked a neighbor about the manifestations during my absence.  He seemed surprised by my query. "Have you not heard?" He began. "A teacher has come among us.  No one is sure from where he came.  It is said that he performed a miracle, maybe more.  He was down by the shore the other day.  He spoke with Simon and Andrew, and the two sons of Zebedee.  Seems he seeks men who make their trade in the sea, but then, just this morning, he was talking to that vile tax collector." "Levi?" I asked, knowing my neighbor could mean no one else.  Then, I followed my first question with another, "And does that explain the zeal of the townsfolk?" "Levi is having a gathering tonight, at his house.  All are invited, but you know the pious will stay clear." "Perhaps not," I countered....

Your people will be my people, words of Ruth to Naomi, Moabite to a Jew, cursed to the chosen. Your God will be my God, a gentile speaks, accepting a new life, a new faith, and prophecies gain a voice. A curse against those who did not bring bread and water to the tribes when the desert was theirs to wander. Your God will be my God, one widow to another, God's plan manifested in a proclamation of faith. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Bread from the good things we've known that nobody tallies. Joe Wise - Here is My Life Gifts given with the dawn, a breath of a new day. Mercy to heal the scars of yesterday. To rise weary, or refreshed. To smell the aroma of coffee, or cradle a mug of hot tea between cold hands. To hear a child's footsteps while the morning is still young. To hear the tale of a dream you dreamt once. Bread offered, filling each meal, if only to satisfy the body's hunger. Words read, spoken by creator and given to all that we might know of an emotion called love. Love that moves beyond life. The all  encompassing embrace of those gifted to us. Those taken for granted when we give thanks. Those we have expected from life when we laid down plans. Those which we cherish because God has bestowed them upon us. Gifts given with the night, to kneel, or to sit, to clear thoughts of the day, thoughts of ourselves. To offer prayer, maybe wordless, and to listen to the wisdom of silence as He gently g...