Scarlet Robe Creations

This is a Parable The young girl climbed the steps of the ancient church.  Desperation ate at her soul like a plague, gnawing deeper into her being with each cold stone step she climbed.  She pulled one of the heavy oaken doors open and slipped inside, breathing in a musty odor, reminding her of childhood and innocence past.  Suddenly she was self-conscious of her choice of garments.  Her jeans were faded and torn at both knees.  Her light colored tee-shirt wore the tarnish of unclean fabric. She slowly stepped through a second set of doors and blessed herself at a font of Holy Water.  The cavernous building seemed to breathe a welcoming sigh.  Her intention was to light a candle at the front of the church.  She would pray for guidance, pray for a way home. With reservations she began to walk down the center aisle.  The crucifix over the altar depicted Jesus in His moment of anguish.  She looked up at the arched ceiling and studied...

Drifting on the lake, discouraged, fatigued, wishing for a do over of the last three years. A voice calls out, a shadowy figure on the shore. A fire boldly illuminates the surroundings. The stranger is faceless, unrecognizable to any of us. We have caught nothing, but at a suggestion tossed out on the breeze by the unknown silhouette, we try once more and our nets are overwhelmed. Do we see Him, the image of the man we gave our lives to? Doubts, heartbreaks and confusion, we take another miracle to the shore. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author From the Collection;  According to John

Inspired by (2 Corinthians 2:16) "to those being saved, it is a fragrance that brings life" Good News Bible - Today's English Version We are the sweet smelling incense being offered to God by Jesus , yet it is His fragrance, breathed into our souls that gives us life. Fragrance of God, pleasant to those who believe. The musty aroma of the deep forest, leaves underfoot, pine needles fallen to the earth. The first inhale of breath from a mountain summit, clean of all impurity. The cool breeze off a morning lake, filling my senses with a new day. The scent of an apple pie cooking on an Autumn afternoon. The fragrance of God, a smell pleasing to those choosing to walk by His word, sour to those who take no heed of His voice. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

The whip slashes  through the air and meets bare skin. I shudder as He falls and is assaulted by a Roman guard. His head bleeds from the thorns, blood trails into His eyes. His back is opened from the flogging, tendons exposed. His life is pouring out for those who mock Him. Sacred blood dripping on the hard clay. He does not cry out for mercy, yet He is mercy. And the hide arches through the air again. Flesh of animal against flesh of a man. Again He rises, calling on strength no man possesses, moving closer to His victory. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Below is a lyric I wrote nearly twenty years ago . At the time I was singing and playing guitar with a Christian Folk Group known as Discip le. We offered our music at a handful of folk festivals and various churches in the late '80s and early '90s. I have always treasured the way God speaks through the music of His people.     From the time of Adam's sin, when the serpent first spoke to Eve and knowledge was given birth in the lies of the apple's taste. 'Til time of Abraham's fold when the Lord on high came down and Sara laughed for joy  at the promise of Isaac's birth. I will promise you descendants as numerous as the stars  that shine in the nighttime sky. Then Moses spoke to the people. He said, "the Lord leads you out ." Pharaoh let them free  so they may worship the Lord.    To the edge of the river Jordan where Joshua heard God's call       and the people followed t...

A Moment of grace, my grandchild snuggling up against my shoulder, two weeks old, seeking security in a world new to his senses. My mind is separated from every conversation in the room, the chatter of life that will move on tomorrow and the day after. My thoughts, focusing on his breath against my neck. For this moment and the moments that follow, I am a grandfather... and little else matters... when we allow the Lord's grace to enfold us. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr 

Persistence, an unceasing request, a conversation with the one who desires our intimacy. Supplication, humbly expressing a need already known by the one who gives. Importance, it matters only that we come into the presence of the one who shelters us. Pray, share the thoughts of the day, the fears of night, like a child curled on the lap of a father. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Is the time upon us, prophesied as such, when some will no longer give their hearts to sound doctrine? Their ears itch for pleasant vices, they long for the sweetness of corruption. They wish to hear words, in the midst of drunken indiscretions, condoning their sin as God's truth. In their desire to live a life of irresponsible choices they separate themselves from the love of God and consume myths. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Division among the chosen, multiple ideals trying to define the same cross. We kneel or stand in prayer seeking answers to justify our interpretations. Do we have a voice for tolerance or the word? Do we assign as sacred only those passages with which we agree? Are we not guilty of taken sides in our quest to package God with the label of our own brand? Denomination, a word which sometimes tastes foul, shepherds who have scattered the flock and shaped the cross with their own beliefs. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

The martyr is stoned by those who shut out his voice. Hands over their ears they rush him full of hatred, despite the sincerity of his blood. Murder them as you have in the past, the prophets who exposed your falsehoods. This is not a sacrifice to be offered to God. There is no justice for the creed you preach. You raise your fist, hard stone wrapped within and throw your cloak, like responsibility, in the arms of another. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Were there not ten? Jesus asks this question of the one man who returns to give thanks.  He took pity on all of them and healed their leprosy.  He cured them of a dreaded disease which kept them separated from all of society.  A disease which left them filthy in the eyes of the law.  There is an important point made in this passage of Luke's Gospel, telling us that this one man who returned was a Samaritan, an outsider.  In the parable of the traveler beaten on the roadside, it is noted that a priest and a Levi pass by leaving the man for dead, wishing to remain undefiled, but a Samaritan stops and cares for the wounded man (Luke 10:25-37).  We are not told whether the other nine are Jews or other Samaritans.  The bible passage does tell us, however, that on their way to the priests to show themselves they realize they are healed, their sores are gone.  Nine are bound to the law and continue on to present themselves to the authorities of the l...

He picked up two handfuls of steel spikes from the bench.  With calloused hands he placed all but one in the leather pouch he wore around his waist.  He felt the forged body of the single nail, knowing its purpose, being an instrument of its purpose.  The sharp point at the end of the tool he placed against the delicate flesh at his wrist, between two blood vessels.  Briefly he heard the cries of agony and a shiver coursed through his bones. He placed the spike with the others and tested a hammer on the bench for weight.  The tools of his trade, hammers and nails.  He built nothing and he destroyed much. "I heard they have three prisoners for your crew today," a voice behind him said.  He turned to face the deep baritone.  An old friend graced the threshold between the two rooms of his home. "Had two... and then they added another." "All criminals, no doubt," the friend added. "Two are thieves.  The other is some kind of politica...

Today I am blessed by tiny hands and delicate feet. I can't help but wait for eyes to open from sleep, squinting into the newness of life. I find myself humming hymns dear to my heart, songs I sang to his mother when she was his size. Thank you Lord for the gifts you bring into the world, to be cared for by loving parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Thank you for gifting C.J. to our family. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr Below is the hymn hummed that is dear to my heart

We spend the day waiting, anxious thoughts, imagery in our hearts, a joy we wait without patience to embrace. Healthy lungs, ten fingers and ten toes, God knows the petitions in our hearts. It is not as when we were mother and father, expectant adults, growing into our roles. Now there is another generation to bear that joy. But we are the elders who sit back and wait, pray, while our daughter breathes through contractions and her husband holds her hand. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr