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Splinters of Light
Splinters of Light will
change the way you think about life
your fellow man and
A feast for the soul and wine for the spirit, this is a book you will read slowly and thoughtfully.
It will become a reference tool for illustrations, sermon topics and devotionals.
We are not given the choice of being a light to the world. John tells us in his gospel that we are the light. When we accept Christ and become part of the family of God, we are put on a lamp stand. We are the city on the hill. People will see us. Our light will shine. The only choice we have is the amount of Light we allow through the cracks in these earthen vessels.
So, how do we do it? What does it mean to shine, to illuminate? After 60 years of living, teaching, struggling to be a child of God, I can say only that we shine in spite of ourselves. Our shining is not a product of our own labor. It is not something we can will into being. Rather, it is the byproduct of a life lived in the presence of the true Light. We are a reflection of Him.
The brilliance of that reflection, the penetrating power of Christ’s Spirit in our lives is His gift to us. As we allow our hearts to overflow with His goodness, mercy, and love; with the knowledge of who He is and what He is, that goodness and mercy and awesome reality somehow manifests itself to those around us. The love we receive from Him flows naturally into our world and into the lives of those with whom we come in contact.
As I come to the later stage of life, with white hair, grandchildren, the frailties of age, I look back on what I’ve written and I see the finger of God making a notation here, a reference there. I see where brokenness opened the ‘cracks’ in this very earthen vessel so His light shines in spite of my darkness -- shines in spite of my cloudy mirror.
Now, I offer to you those words He would not let me ignore; words that crowded behind walls of hesitancy, words that tumbled through the cracks and became splinters of light. May Christ be honored and a tiny part of His glory revealed in these small splinters.
Gently he calls to me,
Softly he comes.
Weaving my life on the loom of his love.
Though I canít see it, the pattern he weaves;
Though I resist it and try to break free.
With patience and wisdom,
the Master weaves on,
Ďtil Iím a garment of praise and his to put on.
And He loves me and keeps me
and calls me his own.
Iíll love him and serve him and Iíll be his own.
Dark threads and golden ones,
laughter and tears.
Flow through my life as he gathers the years.
A world full of wonder,
of reason and rhyme.
My life is a tapestry, woven of time.
Gently he calls to us,
softly he comes.
Weaving our lives on the loom of his love.
The Masterís a weaver of garments down here.
To be worn in his mansions
of glory up there.
--Kathy Kroeger, Internet prayer partner.
What a gift this has been, reading the precious words of Donna. She gives us a time for all reasons, and a time for all seasons. I fell upon her words when my heart was breaking for the pain of our world surrounding Japan. Her words were true to the time I needed them. "Did You Ever Cry, Jesus? in My Father's Garden"
It was like she was there, and talking to our Lord. After reading this piece from Donna, I knew I wasn't alone in my pain. Donna's gift of our Lords words is so very rewarding. I look forward to her new book with love and comfort. It'll be like she's right at my side....again.
Bonnie Marie Shoaf, retired minister, Pastoral Counsellor, Serenity Hospice.
When I read your poems it seems like you are taking my hand
and walking with me to the place where God is waiting; to the cross,
to the lakeshore, to the temple. . .
It's a gentle caressing of my emotions, which helps me wiggle my way to the
foot of the cross through the angry mob, through the tender tears of friends and mother and through my own fears.
Your poetry touches every emotion in me. I feel sorrow in my soul, then
anger and when I keep reading I feel the joy and triumph in my heart.
May it be so.
Jeff Kiger, Business editor for the Post-Bulletin/Minnesota
Reading Donna Swanson's writing is like sipping a cool drink of water that your body desperately needed without your mind ever being aware of it.
It is refreshing and reaches a personal level within the heart that many people rarely visit.
Her words always carry me back to when I was a child, a time when I was probably wiser than who I became after years and years of allowing the world to shape who I am.
Her poems are a reflection of that pure wonder and joy that children instinctively feel.
Simple, beautiful, profound and very delicate
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