Scarlet Robe Creations

Often I pray for things I don't require, trinkets in life You know I don't really need. I am Your child, we are Your children, believing we need the glitter of this world. We belong to You Lord, nourish us as You would the sparrow, dress us like the lilies of the field. Walk among us, guide us down the road You desire most for our travel. We are Yours, we belong to You. I hope my prayer is not childish, that it is found important to You. I know You hear my every cadence and promise to give me only good things. Still, I know I am a child and my voice needs to be uttered with simplicity and humility. You know the deepest prayer in my heart today.  You know my unspoken sonnet for tomorrow. And You answer always, because we belong to You. I am Yours. My wife and family are Yours. Wrap us in Your embrace and secure us from all that binds our minds to worry. Often I pray for those closest to me, the gifts You have loaned to me. Caress their wounds when the world put...

Lord, the day You have given is all I can ask to receive. You have blessed me with the songs of birds to begin my morning and bread for my table. You have given me a voice to sing praise and eyes with which to read Your word. Lord, the new day whether bathed with showers or warmed by the sun is laid out in perfection. I will sing praise for every season for it is what You wish to bestow upon me. Lord, when my toil nears its daily end give me the satisfaction of tired muscles and an attitude for prayer. Feed me the nourishment my body requires and the spirit my soul longs to embrace. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

I can't shake the feeling, lingering in my core, since the night in the garden.  Caiaphas instructed me to follow the guards out to the meeting point.  I would be his eyes and ears.  The High Priest hoped the Nazarene would say something, anything which could be brought as evidence in front of the Sanhedrin.  There were still a few members who needed convincing of the dire political crisis we faced.  As Caiaphas said, "It is better that one man be destroyed, rather than a whole nation." But the horror that occurred there still plagues my dreams by day and night.  The betrayer, I believe his name was Judas, greeted the one named Jesus with a kiss.  The moment seemed unreal, an expression of kinship in return for blood.  What did this disciple of his expect to gain by turning over a man who harbored no guilt? A sword was drawn to defend the teacher.  I saw only a flash of the moon's reflection in the steel blade.  The burly fisherman h...

In the Church, His spirit dwells not in the stone, wood, or stained glass. He is not an icon in the temple kept behind the veil. He is not controlled by our boundaries or doctrine, despite the parables we preach. He is in the parking lot of the supermarket, the main street of a borough, the sidewalk of a slum, waiting to be encountered. He is untethered from our expectations. He is more than our simplistic views can comprehend. In the true church, wherever His people gather. In flowering meadows, cragged mountain tops, or littered back alleys, He is present. The air does breathe His name and the songs, no matter how imperfect, move the heart of the almighty. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

A chorus of Barn Swallows greets the new morning. A simple song of praise, reminding me that the birds of the air do not sow or reap, Yet You care for all their needs. Help me Lord to take today for what it is, without worry about those things I cannot change. Help me to focus on Your truth and not the fables of the world. Lord, give me a voice today to sing praises for what You have offered and not what the world has tempted me to want. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

The tender hug of a small child. The warm hand of your spouse, in yours. A softly picked melody on a guitar. Gentle laughter carrying across the breeze. A murmured prayer of thanks. Glistening sun on the face of a lake. The rush of a mountain river in Spring. Two bunnies playing on the front lawn. The first red tomato of Summer. Crisp Autumn air and an unblemished sky of blue. Light rain on the porch roof. The sunset at the end of a Spring day. A hymn sung sweetly in a tiny chapel. A wave crashing on a sandy beach. A cluster of Tiger Lilies along the road side. A white tailed deer eating apples from a tree. The view from the summit of a mountain. A worn trail in the deep woods. A soaring hawk against an overcast sky. Flannel sheets on a cold Winter's night. Gathering at table with those considered precious. A church bell calling us to prayer. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.a...

Under a canopy of leaves, am I out of Your sight? My thoughts seek a hiding place in shadows. I am the product of my failures, looking away from Your face, because I am less than You have made me to be. Shade along the byway hides me from the rays of warmth. I feel cold into my marrow. How can You know me and still wait patiently for me to turn around, step into the light? Under a canopy of leaves, I fight the need to step into the open. I know You see the core of my sacrilege, the sin I won't admit. Still You wait to embrace me and kill the fattened calf. copyright 2016 - 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. ...

The poem below reflects on a recent afternoon visit to Weston Priory in Weston Vt  http://www.westonpriory.org/ Silence. Only the brief interruption of a bird's song or sandals walking prayerfully over stone. Silence. Walk around a reflective pond and through a garden cared for meticulously. Rest in contemplation and listen to the quiet. This is a place of silence. On a summit in Weston Vermont resides the ultimate peace. Silence. Until the monastery bells call us to prayer. A handful of men, monks, enter the chapel and begin to sing. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Calm is the night when I can rest after my toil, knowing I have felt the Lord's presence in the day's effort. Restful peace encircles me, a prayer, a passage, scripture, all spoken to touch my heart with compassion. My thoughts, less chaotic, centered on truth and not the claimed ideologies of the humanistic world. Calm is the night when I have focused often on His word and left my guilt in healing hands. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author