Scarlet Robe Creations

Do you mold God to fit your world, your life, your culture? Do you shape His words to be spoken as you wish to hear? Do you see Him as an image fabricated on canvas, or choreographed by an actor pretending? Do you see a feeding trough and wonder if the saliva of animals smeared the wood before embracing a newborn, or do you simply celebrate a gift without knowing from whence it came? Do you see a mount where a prophet may have stood, speaking words heard by those with ears to hear? Do you see a basket of fish and bread and see a miracle, or do you laugh at a fable told by the simple? Do you see the cross, the tomb, the stone that has been rolled away? Do you listen to Mary as she describes an angel, or was it the rabbi, crucified, announcing life, not death? Do you mold God to fit your world? Do you consider Eden and say it is just a story, or a parable, prepared in the next breath to say the same about the resurrection? copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/...

I was at a funeral service this weekend  for an individual who believed that death was nothing more than death.   The lack of God in life, the lack of God in the afterlife.   It's impossible for me to relate to that way of existence ,   to believe we are nothing more than the foundations we have built on this soil. Salt without flavor, the spiritually lost, standing only on the ground where you toil, without faith, without the embrace of eternal love. Can salt regain its taste after being trampled underfoot in littered streets? Is death simply death without being preserved by salt? You are the salt on the earth. Your desire to believe makes you vibrant, a great joy in the eye of the Lord. Go out and enhance the faith of other, but do not lose your knowledge of God, setting your foundations on things of the soil and not Heaven. copyright 2017 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./auth...

A tear falls from my cheek to the body, wounded, anointed in death. For the father of this man loved our sinful world so much that he sent his only child into it, as vulnerable flesh, to die. His tomb is sealed by old men struggling to leave behind rituals of their birth. Lord, help me to awaken to your kingdom, to be born again not of my mother's womb, but of your spirit. copyright 2002 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

A poem dusted off from the ancient archives .   A reflective moment while driving a country road to work,  thinking of days past and days to come.   Light fog on the country fields. Gentle sunlight reaching through in a dance of glory. August morning softly filtered. If I am a child I run in the grass, damp with the morning’s dew, and paradise is mine. If I am old I stand in fields of my solitude, united with my creator, taking deep breaths, cherished. Between these two stages of life I fail at times to pause. I push past empty fields, burdening my haste. Though, if for just a moment I slow my pace, I reflect on the child past and feel a longing for the old man, waking. copyright 1997 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Come to the upper room. The bread of His suffering is laid out on the table. The wine of your joy       is poured out for all. Come and sit by Him. Bring your denials and your betrayals. Bring all that you are and all that you strive to be. Come to the upper room. This bread of the Passover is broken for you. Its substance has taken you from the land of slavery  to a land of plenty. Come and sit by Him. Share this bread of a new promise. Share this bread of His being. Broken, for all who are called to be children of His father. copyright 1995 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author