Scarlet Robe Creations

Often I pray for things I don't require, trinkets in life You know I don't really need. I am Your child, we are Your children, believing we need the glitter of this world. We belong to You Lord, nourish us as You would the sparrow, dress us like the lilies of the field. Walk among us, guide us down the road You desire most for our travel. We are Yours, we belong to You. I hope my prayer is not childish, that it is found important to You. I know You hear my every cadence and promise to give me only good things. Still, I know I am a child and my voice needs to be uttered with simplicity and humility. You know the deepest prayer in my heart today.  You know my unspoken sonnet for tomorrow. And You answer always, because we belong to You. I am Yours. My wife and family are Yours. Wrap us in Your embrace and secure us from all that binds our minds to worry. Often I pray for those closest to me, the gifts You have loaned to me. Caress their wounds when the world put

Lord, the day You have given is all I can ask to receive. You have blessed me with the songs of birds to begin my morning and bread for my table. You have given me a voice to sing praise and eyes with which to read Your word. Lord, the new day whether bathed with showers or warmed by the sun is laid out in perfection. I will sing praise for every season for it is what You wish to bestow upon me. Lord, when my toil nears its daily end give me the satisfaction of tired muscles and an attitude for prayer. Feed me the nourishment my body requires and the spirit my soul longs to embrace. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

I can't shake the feeling, lingering in my core, since the night in the garden.  Caiaphas instructed me to follow the guards out to the meeting point.  I would be his eyes and ears.  The High Priest hoped the Nazarene would say something, anything which could be brought as evidence in front of the Sanhedrin.  There were still a few members who needed convincing of the dire political crisis we faced.  As Caiaphas said, "It is better that one man be destroyed, rather than a whole nation." But the horror that occurred there still plagues my dreams by day and night.  The betrayer, I believe his name was Judas, greeted the one named Jesus with a kiss.  The moment seemed unreal, an expression of kinship in return for blood.  What did this disciple of his expect to gain by turning over a man who harbored no guilt? A sword was drawn to defend the teacher.  I saw only a flash of the moon's reflection in the steel blade.  The burly fisherman had taken up arms against the au

In the Church, His spirit dwells not in the stone, wood, or stained glass. He is not an icon in the temple kept behind the veil. He is not controlled by our boundaries or doctrine, despite the parables we preach. He is in the parking lot of the supermarket, the main street of a borough, the sidewalk of a slum, waiting to be encountered. He is untethered from our expectations. He is more than our simplistic views can comprehend. In the true church, wherever His people gather. In flowering meadows, cragged mountain tops, or littered back alleys, He is present. The air does breathe His name and the songs, no matter how imperfect, move the heart of the almighty. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

A chorus of Barn Swallows greets the new morning. A simple song of praise, reminding me that the birds of the air do not sow or reap, Yet You care for all their needs. Help me Lord to take today for what it is, without worry about those things I cannot change. Help me to focus on Your truth and not the fables of the world. Lord, give me a voice today to sing praises for what You have offered and not what the world has tempted me to want. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

The tender hug of a small child. The warm hand of your spouse, in yours. A softly picked melody on a guitar. Gentle laughter carrying across the breeze. A murmured prayer of thanks. Glistening sun on the face of a lake. The rush of a mountain river in Spring. Two bunnies playing on the front lawn. The first red tomato of Summer. Crisp Autumn air and an unblemished sky of blue. Light rain on the porch roof. The sunset at the end of a Spring day. A hymn sung sweetly in a tiny chapel. A wave crashing on a sandy beach. A cluster of Tiger Lilies along the road side. A white tailed deer eating apples from a tree. The view from the summit of a mountain. A worn trail in the deep woods. A soaring hawk against an overcast sky. Flannel sheets on a cold Winter's night. Gathering at table with those considered precious. A church bell calling us to prayer. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.a

Under a canopy of leaves, am I out of Your sight? My thoughts seek a hiding place in shadows. I am the product of my failures, looking away from Your face, because I am less than You have made me to be. Shade along the byway hides me from the rays of warmth. I feel cold into my marrow. How can You know me and still wait patiently for me to turn around, step into the light? Under a canopy of leaves, I fight the need to step into the open. I know You see the core of my sacrilege, the sin I won't admit. Still You wait to embrace me and kill the fattened calf. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

This poem is from 20 years ago, inspired by Isaiah 64:8 "We are the clay, and You are the potter; we are the work of Your hands" I wanted to illustrate the Father as not only the potter, but the painter as well, as the one who molds us into shape and gives us color. Here I am, oh Lord listening to the silence. Your voice filters through all this stillness. I give You my heart. I give You my every breath. Come into my life, direct me. Show me the road You choose for me to follow. Mold Your gentleness into my heart. Make of me what You will, every color You desire. Paint me humble and without pride. 'Cause You are the painter and I am the canvas. You are the potter and I am the soft mound of clay Paint my empty canvas with the colors of life, the hues I need to be. Paint my eyes to see You clearly. Paint my heart to know You. Mold my shapeless form into a vessel of love, the form of which You choose. Mold my hands to reach out to You.

The poem below reflects on a recent afternoon visit to Weston Priory in Weston Vt  http://www.westonpriory.org/ Silence. Only the brief interruption of a bird's song or sandals walking prayerfully over stone. Silence. Walk around a reflective pond and through a garden cared for meticulously. Rest in contemplation and listen to the quiet. This is a place of silence. On a summit in Weston Vermont resides the ultimate peace. Silence. Until the monastery bells call us to prayer. A handful of men, monks, enter the chapel and begin to sing. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Calm is the night when I can rest after my toil, knowing I have felt the Lord's presence in the day's effort. Restful peace encircles me, a prayer, a passage, scripture, all spoken to touch my heart with compassion. My thoughts, less chaotic, centered on truth and not the claimed ideologies of the humanistic world. Calm is the night when I have focused often on His word and left my guilt in healing hands. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Will you open the door when the knocking disturbs your routine? I'm not selling religion, politics or encyclopedias. You think I am the outcast, the hungry, the thirsty, the one without shelter. So you sit back in your chair, bring your book of romance into view and live a fantasy. I will not cease to knock, an annoyance in your life, hoping soon you will realize I have so much more to offer than what you choose to receive. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr.

I was traveling a road some of my associates had warned me about.  But I had business to attend and felt the risk was not too great.  They told me the road was filled with thieves, that vagabonds ambushed the unwary travelers daily, especially those who traveled alone.  I did not consider myself careless as I set out over the rocky roads toward Jericho. They approached me from behind, three of them, muscular and unruly.  The hungry and destitute of the land.  Some commit crimes to survive, others because of their hatred for fellow men.  I offered the little gold I had, a handful of coins with Caesar's image.  They struck me anyway, wanting my money, the cloth I wore and my blood.  When they left me by the roadside I thought death was near.  I faded into a world of darkness.  I asked God to be compassionate toward me, to keep the animals from gnawing on my bones.  Through a mouth tasting my own blood I prayed for deliverance. I heard steps on the hard earth.  I moaned so as not

At first I rose up out of the dust of creation, and I chose the thrill of temptation over the love of my creator. I chose to turn in the direction of my choice. To form my own meanings for my existence. I chose to eat the fruit of my desire, and by choice I left the house of creation. It was then, after the garden of my peace was a distant memory, as I watched the struggle of my offspring, to find their meaning, that I directed myself toward my father's home. I set off in search of his love only I'd forgotten who he was. I looked to the sun high in the sky, full of warmth and brightness, and mistook the caress of its light as love. But when I made my plea for deepening kinship the sun vanished into the clouds. When I asked it to protect me with its light it fell victim to the darkness.    Then I sought the solace of the moon. The strengthening hope in my fear of the night. The gentle spirit a

When the world steals our focus on the road ahead, adding stones to the path causing us to stumble. When it shows our eyes falsehoods of its design and the trail leads to thickets too dense to pass. When the world takes our faith and tries to crush every truth we believe. When its politics degrade and its offspring tell us we are the weeds, they are the wheat. When the world calls you foolish and tells us we must be more tolerant of sin and other creeds. When it holds trial against the Word you believe... What will you do? copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Who views our anguished soul when we lie cowering in shadows of despair? When we cannot stand before the reflection of what we are, or who we've become.   Who views our anguished soul when we feel unworthy to pray? When we feel that life has taken the best we had to give and left us abused in its wake.   Who views our anguished soul from the wooden scaffolding of any other creed? Who stretched out His arms to embrace all our sins? Who allowed His hands to be nailed in place so that we might be saved? copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Gather in His name In places of low esteem and high. He hears your song as clearly on street corners as on mountain tops. Gather in temples or in barns set in open fields. Come rich come poor. Come saint and sinner. All will find a seat at His table. All are called to gather. To come together embracing our unity, no matter how different. Leave your skin color, leave your ethnicity, leave the voice of your land. Step free of your denomination. Release the burden of pious thought. Gather where the spirit beckons and call yourselves His beloved. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

I woke in the morning while the new day was in its infancy, and began searching for an item lost, yet never truly possessed. A pearl, a rare coin, a valuable asset to my soul. I had no illumination. Darkness ruled. Its prince holding me firmly in his grasp. Pulling me below the horizon. Into the shadows cast in dark corners. Existing only to defile the light. One ray of hope. One soft glimpse of morning light reaches the plain wall in the room in which my nights are spent. And in its glow I see hung from one rusted nail, my pearl, my rare coin, my salvation. copyright 2014 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author