Scarlet Robe Creations

A broken jar, once made of clay, now tiny pieces never to be brought together. The day is coming when the work of the potter will be scattered on the hard ground. A broken jar, empty now, without the essence of faith. It's creed is the world's, and in its state it is no good to the Kingdom. A broken jar, one that the true potter molded, one that sat in the palm of His hand. It sings in worship of a false creator in the valley meant for slaughter. copyright 2024 - 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. ...