Scarlet Robe Creations

Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required,   Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: Luke 2:27-28 “Simeon in the Temple” by Rembrandt Lord, now you may dismiss your servant, my life can end in peace, for with my aging eyes I have seen the child who is our salvation and I cradle Him gently in my arms.   This child Lord, is Your gift to the world, a light of brilliance shining forth to reveal Your way to the gentiles and bring glory to Your people and I cradle Him gently in my arms.   Behold, chosen daughter, many will reject this child and their sword will pierce through your soul. This will be their sin. He will be a sign from God, despised and spoken against, but to others He will be their deepest joy. copyright 2017 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0769H9LJH

In the novel 'Afternoons With Mister D', there is a story, or chapter if you will,  titled 'Youth'.   Mister D tells Charlee about his wife Tess,  and how they spent Christmas at a children's hospital  with a little girl named Ronnie. This, like other blog entries titled 'Purity' and 'Foolish' are extensions of the original stories making up 'Afternoons With Mister D'. I hope you enjoy this very special Christmas story, and maybe consider following the link at the bottom of the page  and picking up a copy of 'Afternoons With Mister D' Thank you for reading... God Bless and Merry Christmas. Ronnie was glad to see her friend show up bright and early on Christmas morning.  The young woman, who seemed old to the nine year old Ronnie, brought a young man who, as the recent girl-to-girl confession had revealed, was a boyfriend.  Maybe he was even more than that, her friend had said.  Ronnie's friend was in love.  That was obvious.  Ronn

It was a maintenance shop, like any other.  There was grease, dirt and tools.  There were men who worked with their hands.  Sometimes their words were coarse.  Usually they didn't care. It was the twenty-third day of the month.  The holiday was two days away.  One of the men was single and would spend the holiday at home with his parents.  Two would be with their spouses.  One would visit his brother and sister-in-law, and their two young children. Rob had brought two unfinished gifts, for his niece and nephew, into the shop.  The other three came and gathered around, cups of coffee in hand, to offer their opinions and suggestions.   "Gonna take some cleaning up," Rick said. "And I have paint," Rob added. "You plan to paint them in here?" Rick queried. "The paint smell will go right up the hallway.  Pete will have a fit." The verbal response to Rick's words was colorful.  All four decided they would deal with Pete's wrath when, and if

  We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;  we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn. Matthew 11:17 In the market place, a game of children. One does not dance when the flute is played, mimicking a wedding feast. The other does not mourn when the singing is of death. What did they expect? Did they come to see a prophet, or king? Did they expect glimmering robes? Whatever is received, it is never enough? One came by the river, without food or drink, and he is called a demon. The son comes sharing meals of tradition and hospitality, and he is called a friend of sinners. I played a wedding song for you, on my flute and you chose not to dance. I sang the somber hymns of funeral march and you chose not to cry. To what are you compared, this generation and the next? You are neither happy when the grass is green, nor when it is brown. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

Star of Bethlehem - Elihu Vedder (1897) Stars, filling the night sky when direction is sought. But only one shows the way. Stars, each with a wonder to behold, each with promise. But only one promises life. The journey may be long. There are easier roads to travel. There are paths which will cushion your feet in comfort, and allow plenty of rest when tired. Stars, illuminating the heavens. Stars, beckoning the wanderer. Star, one star, a single star, calling to the wise, to those who seek faith, those who seek a king of meekness. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

Edward Stott - There was no room at the inn (c. 1910) It is but a stable. There is hay, there is dirt, there are animals. The only music to calm a weary soul are the calls of a cow and a donkey and the bleating of sheep. Shepherds watch, guided by a song heard on high. They come in their tattered clothing to honor a king donned in rags. There in so fanfare. This king has come for those who are born in stables. This king has come for those who labor in fields tending their sheep. This king has come for any who feel undeserving of Him. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

 She has journeyed long and hard. She bears news of prophecies answered. She holds a vision in her heart, an angel, a visitation, a promise. God has not forgotten His people. Will she find faithfulness at the end of her day? Will her cousin embrace her without doubt? These thoughts are pondered as the two come together. It is not the young girl who speaks, but the child, in the older woman's womb, has leapt for joy copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

Such fascination  with the story of a child. Why Bethlehem? Why a donkey? Why a stable and feeding troth. A child sees a manger and a carol comes to mind. She sees a shepherd and takes note of the sheep. To a child the animals are important, and the angels. She watches the kings, and wants to know their names and what gifts they bring. Even to an adult, Jesus is accessible in the hay. He has yet to teach words we don't want to hear. He has yet to embrace a repentant tax collector, or prostitute. He has yet to tell those near him that he will die. But for now, Advent is upon us. We can gaze like children at a manger scene and quietly hum, 'What Child is This'. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

Readers of my novel 'Afternoons With Mister D' will find this story interesting. This is in response to a reader who said,  "I wondered if I was going to read more about Molly Boyd." Jimmy Klein and Molly Boyd are two characters who appear in the story 'X-Country' If you haven't read 'Afternoons With Mister D' and are looking for a really good Christian based novel, follow the link below and God Bless. "What are you thinking about?" Jimmy Klein stood at the window looking out over the snow covered fields.  They were standing in the dining hall of the seminary.  The holidays were all passed.  The snow piling up on the lawn was a product of January.  The best snow, as per Lucy in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. "It's beautiful," Jimmy added "You think," the other said, sarcastically.  His name was Herbert Grainger.  His family had moved north from the deep south a couple years before he decided on answering God&

The Flight of the Prisoners (1896) by James Tissot I will bring you back. Words I hear in the night, when darkness is all I have, when I have closed my heart in defeat and wish for a better day. I will bring you back. I have not been torn from my home, as those who heard those words for the first time. It is not flesh, but the soul that longs. I will bring you back. A prophet who promises renewal to a world stained by hate. A speaker who knows of armies that plunder and destroy, pillage and rape, he speaks from his age to ours. I will bring you back. Words that overlay our sonnets. Words that say, I love you more than you can know. Words that shine a glimmer of light where for now, there is only darkness. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

"What do I have to be thankful for?" The fourth week of November was creeping up.  On the coming Thursday, families would be gathering around dining room tables.  Some would have a turkey, some a ham.  Some might state what they are thankful for verbally.  Others would be thankful in private.  Some will pray.  Some will think only of eating and watching a football game, or two. So, two men sit in a diner.  Both are in their thirties.  They sip coffee and dip their toast in the yoke of their fried eggs. One repeats himself, "What do I have to be thankful for?  My wife left me.  I haven't seen my two year old son in over a month.  I'm concerned about losing the house... and my job.  My blood pressure is soaring." The other nods his head, and listens. "I know, I know, I should be thankful I'm alive.  I should be thankful I can put food on the table.  I should be thankful for my health... well except for my blood pressure." "You should calm do

Bernardino Mei 1655 What sign can you show that gives you authority. How can we believe if there is no sign? You are full of zeal, but many before you have read the psalms. They too could say they were consumed. You claim this to be a marketplace of our making, but holy men have stood where you stand and they have not condemned our transactions. You say that if we tear down this temple, a structure that has taken decades to raise, you will build it back brick by brick in three days. Will you dance for us as well, prophet, king, fool. We are the disbelievers. We are the hypocrites. We are the ones gathered in a den of thieves. And we are those who will forever ask for a sign of your authority. copyright 2023 -Donald P James Jr

He stood at the tombstone, reading the epitaph, the dates of birth and death chiseled into the stone.  The deceased held a secure place in his heart.  He could still feel her embrace and if he dwelled on her breath stealing grip, emotion threatened to engulf him.  He wouldn’t cry.  He’d done enough of that.  His paper thin heart ached, but tears accomplished nothing.  He didn’t believe the pain of loss was going to fade anytime soon. Blessed are they who mourn. He was mourning now.  He didn’t feel blessed. “I remember how soft her hands were when she would touch my face,” the young girl to his right said. “Even when she was sick and her final days were near.  Her hands were still soft.”  He didn’t respond to her or even acknowledge she had spoken.  Instead, he thought of those last days in silence.  The knife in his heart twisted. Blessed are they who mourn. How could this sadness be a blessing?  The old lady whose flesh and bone was in the earth had cradled her Bible t

Oh Isreal, love your Lord. Bind His words to the flesh of your hand. Cast your eyes on them. Seal them in your heart. Proclaim this commandment to your children. When you sit, when you walk, when you lie down, when you rise, take these words to your heart. Love your Lord. And Isreal, do not hate your neighbor in your heart. Treat him, as you would wish him to treat you. Hold no grudge. Seek no vengeance. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Oh Isreal, do not test the one sent. Do not gather against him as scholars thinking the answers are for you, when in truth they are His. For what you have read points to this day, if you but listen to the prophets and understand the law. copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr

(Matthew 4.12-22; Mark 1.14-20; Luke 4.14,15; 5.1-11)   I labor with my hands. Hard calloused hands.   I know work and little rest. My night is finished, but you ask me to cast out one more time.   See these hands, teacher, these tired hands. They have mended nets torn by a day’s drudgery.   See these muscles, they are weary and seared. I have nothing to show for my efforts but sweat and ingrained filth.   And you ask me to cast out on the sea again.   My brother hears you speak and he brings you to me, hoping I will listen. Your words excite James and John, but they see life differently than I.   I need to feed my family. My brother and Zebedee’s sons chase prophets and harbor dreams that our world might be different,                 some day.   Your eyes look into my soul. What do you see in me? A body fatigued from its labor. A soul trapped in trial. I do as I say and not as I wish   You preach without words, simply a knowing gaze                 in your eyes, and despite my stubbo

  I knew your father. He was a good man, Joseph the carpenter.   I was there, in his home, the night he died. I listened to your mother weep    softly.   I’ve heard them tell of the things you’ve done, the words you’ve spoken in prophecy.   I placed the Tora in your hands when you stepped forth. You read the words of the holy scriptures, the prophet Isaiah, a man longing for the messiah.   You staked a claim, The words of the prophet are fulfilled, but you are a carpenter’s son, not the leader we are promised.   They call you blasphemer because of the proclamation you’ve made. They raise fists and stones in the air and unscathed you walk through their midst.   And I fear that if the stories of you are true you have not come for the pious children of Israel but for those we, the righteous,    consider retched. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MY4T1NH