Scarlet Robe Creations

Do not despair, when the darkest void settles in. Do not hold tight to the shadows of doubt. You are beloved, regardless of any stain on your soul. His love purifies the darkness. The long night will end, for He is the flame on the wick. Do not despair, in the moment of mercy's outpouring. Do not cling to regret. Do not feel undeserving, no matter the worldly penance expected. One tear, one murmur of the lips, Is all it takes to say "Yes, Lord." I want to be with you. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

He gives good things to those who love Him. Good things, not riches and wealth, not fine garments and jewels, not prestige and the adoration of the world. Good things, such as peace when a storm rages, grace that governs the heart, mercy that forgives completely and grandchildren who hold hands along a trail. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Be it now a time that you turn. Another day, another hour, be it not one wasted. Be it now that you take what is offered, a sliver of wood, a single thorn, mercy for your failures. Be it now, before the gates are closed. He calls you and me by name, come now while there is time. opyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Thorns and thistles, a curse upon the soil, laboring for sustenance. Thorns and thistles, the consequence of a relationship, broken, between the creator and the created. Thorns and thistles, futility of rejection, a hinderance to the life promised. Thorns and thistles, He takes the curse upon His flesh. We are ransomed. Thorns and thistles, a sign of mercy, a helmet of mockery, love bleeds on a cross for our sins. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

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