Stand UP

Suddenly a pungent odor entered the subway car, hitting my nose with alarm. No longer engulfed in the book I was reading, but interrupted by this smell of days old fish, I looked up to see the source of this putrid smell.

He walked in, filthy and undignified. He had to be-- it's how he survived. Walking from passenger to passenger, he held out a cup for donations and money, mumbling something in Korean, repeatedly.

They shifted in their seats, turned their gaze away-- as if their shame was better to wear than pity. For a moment I was glad he could not see. Though, the coldness in the air was thick. Some couples began to whisper and chuckle. Others held their noses. I have to admit, I nearly covered my nose.

I saw a lady digging in her purse, pulling out her wallet. She pulled out some money. The man had passed by already, so she tried to reach out to him. She hovered over her seat with her legs still bent, arm exteded. The overly sized purse resting on her lap and a bag between her feet kept her imobile. She thought for a moment to get up and hand the money to him, but perhaps as she looked around the people standing in front of her ready to lunge and take her seat kept her from following through. Instead she lowered her stance and sat fully on the subway seat once again, money in hand. The man passed into the next car.

Conversation started again and their eyes were no longer shifting. The smell slowly faded, though it lingered-- as if to remind us all of an opportunity to help a soul.

As I watched all of this my heart sank for that man. All at the same time I felt judgement rising in my heart. I knew that I had no room to judge, for I had been just as complacent as the others. Perhaps I said some prayers. Perhaps I intended good-- even had compassion. Yet, I too, remained seated.

I realize that it is impossible to give money to everyone. There are times that the Lord prompts us to do something. I cannot put such a burden on myself as to give money to every single person in need that I come across.

Though, I did learn a lesson that day. As I watched the lady who began to give the man some money, I saw her heart. I saw that she did indeed want to extend compassion. She wanted to help. In the end, it proved too inconvenient. She might have lost her subway seat. She couldn't reach. She couldn't even speak up to call his attention. Her bags were too big. Her seat was too comfortable to lose.

Isn't this how it is for so many of us. We want to help. We want to reach out. Our heart is there but then something prevents us. Whether it be our own selfishness, our own needs, time, resources, etc... we find ourselves only standing halfway, more ready to sit back down before fully standing and diving into another's need.

I also thought about what compelled that lady to stand... but didn't compel her enough to go all the way... When we reach out in our own capacity, it doesn't follow-through. We end up landing upon our own needs and wants.

In contrast, Christ's love is enough to compel us to reach out all the way. It's HIS love that is extended when we reach out. We become HIS hands and HIS feet. What causes us to have compassion and lend a hand, some money, a prayer... it must be Christ's love in us. On our own, we will only have enough in us to stand halfway and then sit back down. Christ's love never fails. It endures. It is faithful to the end.

I was very convicted that day as I watched. We need to be a people who are willing to go all the way. If our hearts are there but we only stand halfway, what good have we done? What good did that lady do?

Whatever it is that you have a heart to do-- have the courage, the stamina, the perseverance, the faithfulness, the selflessness-- and above all -- have Christ's love which enables you to stand all the way and complete the call.

Even if you lose your seat, so to speak, stand all the way.

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Hebrews 10:36 You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.

Acts 20:24 However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.

2 Corinthians 5:14-15 For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.

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Take note: The picture above is not the actual lady, but it was a picture I had that closely resembled the scene.

Africa in Pictures & Song

I put together a power point of my trip to Africa...

Unfortunately the music did not sync well with the slides once it was uploaded to the web... I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Here is a link:

http://www.authorstream.com/Presentation/dewheat-459300-nigeria-summer-2010/

Unrevised. Unfinished : Africa

I've never been more sure about something than this... "I MUST GO." Everything in me cries out to go. Since I was 11 years old I have cried out to go. I have now tasted and seen... I must go. I must some how find my way back to the unadulterated soil of Africa. My heart is bursting with a sense of longing as I've parted ways. Bitter tears surface as the long awaited journey to Africa has come and now gone.

It is not romanticized any longer. It is real. Hard. Sweat. Toil. Tears. Hardship. My heart cries out to the one in poverty... the downcast... the unreached people... the uneducated... the war-torn...

Here I am in the countryside of Texas, back from the wilderness of Africa and in less than a week I'll be drowning in the roar of the city life in Seoul, Korea. How is that possible? The transition will be quite abrasive.

Their smiles and innocent faces are marked on my heart forever. As if a gift, they have offered me a long awaited answer to this deep cry emerging from my soul. No words were needed to answer-- solely their presence-- digging up the bones of desire...

Colorful fabric and adorned jewelry, barefoot and carrying a load atop their heads, these women bore the markings and elegance of hard work and suffering.

They stroked their hands across my pale, soft skin with curious looks, wondering how I was not so dark and where were my callouses. One group of women even thought that all white people lived under the water. The innocent thoughts and conclusions they have peak a curiosity in me-- to know more about these simple, nomadic people we call the Fulani.

I, too, wanted to stroke their beautiful, dark skin, curious of how God has made such lovely people. I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to grow up in a tribal setting such as this.

Our way of life must be so unimaginable to them. How can I ever begin to explain how we live. Many of these camps have to walk miles just to fetch a bucket of water. I walk 30 seconds and have a hot shower.

The children. O, the children. So gorgeous. I remember the first time they saw ice. All were amazed and a little skeptical at first. Everyone's hands reached for the ice in a need to witness it first hand. Upon touching the ice, their faces winced and they jerked their hands away in shock and disbelief-- only to reach out and touch it again. Chuckles rippled through the groups of kids and we all enjoyed their simple pleasure.

The roads are eroded to the point that 25 miles of driving takes 1-1.5 hours. We take for granted our paved roads. But, I have to admit, there's something enjoyable about the imperfections. Seeing the rustic buildings and landscapes, I cannot help but see beauty and a depth of life the West does not experience in its strife for perfection. The weathering seems to carry a wisdom and well of untapped richness.

Perhaps it has something to do with my realization that the imperfections did not make me love them less. In fact, my capacity to love seemed even greater. In my own attempts to gain worth and value, perfectionism has often been to my demise. This, I suppose, shed light on my own perfectionism in a new way... my value stands alone-- without regard to perfection.

The authenticity of the people can be seen in the peeling and faded paint on the houses, in the dirt roads, muddied water, and dusty floors. Crusty snot on kids noses, bare-feet, and weathered skin-- something in all humility echoes from their presence. The worn down, the cracked walls, the idiosyncrasies of poverty-- they all display a richness of life, a wealth of wisdom, a depth of beauty, and a simplicity that beckons humanity in its purest form.

My indulgences in life cannot begin to ponder the wealth I have acquired from a glance into the life in Nigeria. The two are so vastly different and cannot begin to understand each other. Some how, that third cookie just doesn't taste the same anymore because of what it signifies. The excess in which I live almost repulses me. I have been among people who have never seen an oven much less know what a homemade cookie tastes like. And yet, I must not forsake or rather be embittered toward a materially blessed lifestyle. The two lives cannot rival one another because they exist on entirely separate plains. It's a matter of finding a balance. Enjoying and appreciating the excess for what it is while not living beyond your means or scorning it. Enjoying and appreciating the simple, impoverished lifestyle while not pitying or crying over it. Both are in existence. Both carry joy and life. Finding the joy in both may look different but the rewards of knowing the two and finding peace in the differences is something of a beautiful sort.

Community takes on a whole new meaning in a culture such as this. Everyone shares the duty of raising the children. Everyone takes on each others' burdens. People are always around-- not just around, but available for talking to and laughing with. Neighbors know each other. It's an intimacy and form of community that the West has all but lost.

...

so many thoughts yet to be articulated...

black money in the water

a black gusher
oozing out, turning her waters to blood
in the name of greed-- wait no, of course not greed.
her life being suffocated, destroyed
her beaches
her shores
her tides and waves
infiltrated with black money
-- now debt
i wanted to cry
i did
my Granny wanted to cuss
she did:
"ocean appropriate language. damn, damn, damn."
what would her waters say?
her fish
her sea life
the two don't mix
the two don't dance
the two poison each other
or perhaps we poison the two-- our crime in mixing them
she cries as the fish float ashore
birds no longer fly
the colors turn
thick, dark coats
layers and layers
trails of invasion
marshes corrupted with substance not quite mud
grass wearing dark trousers
the waters stand, defenseless
her animals, helpless
and our hands, washed clean of the blood
though tainted with black
perhaps this is her cry
that gusher, shouting
her chance to speak
will someone listen this time?

Jacket Holder

Not realizing what I was doing, I complied and took hold of her little jacket. Before I knew it, I was holding several of "her jackets" and some of "his jackets."

Beads of sweat had formed on their little foreheads. Running up to me they handed me jacket upon jacket. Soon enough I had two arms full of jackets. I was the check point. The base. The jacket holder.

The thought didn't enter my mind until I, too, wanted to strip my jacket off and find someone to hold it while I had fun in Korea's [much too short but] beautiful spring weather.

Suddenly I stood there stunned. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It's official. I am not the kid. I am the adult. I've hit the point of no return. There, with my feet planted, the wind blowing my hair, and arms full of light winter coats I began to realize the reality of where I was on this time-line of life.

It brought me joy-- to see them running around, playing with free spirits. I couldn't help but think of my freedom as a child.

Everything in me wanted to set the jackets down and play, too. Perhaps I should have. But who would hold my jacket? Why did I have to be an adult?

I saw my mother. My dad. My Granny. My grandma. Old teachers. Even the big oak tree with long, sinking branches. Seeping into my soul, a feeling of honor settled over me. I now had the privilege of being the jacket holder.

Jacket Holder. Oh the weight of such a job. Who else could be trusted with her little jacket. Surely not a stranger. Surely not the dirty ground. Not even a fellow friend who too would be running around. And no big oak trees around.

With a smile, I took that role.

Spring air has come and given us freedom to have bare feet and run without the weight of winter coats. And with that, there must be a trusted Jacket Holder.

Though, I most certainly intend to find an oak with long, sinking branches suited for securing my jacket-- along with those little ones whom will be with me... giving us the freedom to play.

"The nations will be your oyster."

She reached into the cabinet.

"Here," she directed. "These are for you. I want you to have them." Her delicate, Korean hands lifted up, presenting a string of pearls dangling and interwoven between her fingers.

Taking off the price tag before I could see, she affirmed me through a smile, "Oh dear, I know that your prayers are more powerful than money. And don't worry. Not expensive but good pearls."

She pointed for me to lower my head as to allow her to lock the pearls around my neck. I tried to turn down the offer but she had already made up her mind and defying that would only offend her.

I lowered into a bow and she gently draped the pearls around my neck, locking them, doting, "They look beautiful on you."

A loss of romance, my relationship with HIM had become tiresome. I missed being wooed and rather in this city always being busy. In her hands were HIS. In her words were HIS. He whispered, "My beloved. My pearl of great price."

And to think I had gone out in hopes to bless others and pray for people on the streets of Itaewon. Somehow I found myself among another woman who knew HIS love and she kindly shared it with me.

She thanked me and I thanked her. He knew I would never have bought myself a string of pearls. He gave them to me. What a lover.

It was only later that the Lord reminded me of a word He gave me a few years ago before coming to Korea: "The nations will be your oyster, making you into a pearl."

Lord, You know me. You pursue me. You woo and romance me. Even in the busyness. You draw me into your embrace.

Penmanship

I remembered her asking me. She gently rubbed her little finger across the calloused bump protruding from my middle finger. The one on my writing hand. Admiring the deformity on my finger, her big eyes looked up and met mine.

She was a beauty. One I admired. Her simplicity and good spirits. I often wondered how the soul of a child maneuvered through this world with such ease and joy, as if ice-skating, gliding across a frozen tundra-- some how skimming over the all-too dark and murky water.

"Tell me a story, will you? Write it down, so I'll have it forever."

Her words wrote love on my heart.

Looking down at my finger now, the sign of a writing hand has long disappeared. I suppose it to be possible for callouses to form on the tips of your fingers from typing; however, mine have not. More likely, I suppose that over time, my penmanship has slowly faded into months of busyness. Should I suppose that callouses form over a writing heart? Nay.

Today, a little girl interlocked her fingers with mine. She did not find the same curious bump. Yet, she looked up at me with those big eyes requesting, "Miss Wheat, tell me a story."

It's something from within. She did not need outward evidence... only a hunger. Hunger for creativity. Hunger for someone's heart. Hunger for a story.

Even if, but for a moment, my hand must begin writing again. Sitting stagnate, this muscle must be awakened... must be exercised...

If not for me, I must write for that little girl who believed in me.

Breaking Down

It's been a love-hate relationship. To be honest, Korea has been a hard place for me to live-- all the while a place of deep waters and revelation. A land of testing and growth. A land that presses me and either hardens me or breaks me to the core so that God can rebuild me with a strength of a lion but the gentleness of a lamb. A land of extremes. A land that God has used in specific ways to form me.

Recently, I've had to face the things that have hurt me and attacked my identity while living here. I'm beginning to work through them with forgiveness and brokenness as I let go of any bitterness, taking on a banner of love and a new lens to see this country through. A new lens to see how God is moving in my life while I'm living in a culture so foreign to my own. A new lens to see myself in...as God is shaving down my hard edges and forming me into something He's always seen me as. A new lens to see that I have actually loved my life here.

The biggest struggle for me in this season and place is to find extended time to rest, process, and be in HIS presence. These things are so crucial to my health-- physical, emotional, and spiritual. There has been a tremendous grace over me during this season. A grace that I cannot understand. A grace that has sustained me while I've had to work against my natural tendencies, allowing me to be sharpened in areas of my life that are not generally near the surface of my strengths. Going against the grain of my natural flow has been wearing and trying in so many ways, but it has been a training ground, making me more whole and like Jesus. In the end, I am thankful.

After a year and a half of living in the go, go, go of Korea, I finally reached my limit and found myself breaking down-- just as the song says. Not caring if anyone was around. The first time I heard the song I didn't really listen to the lyrics, but my spirit was so moved.

I began to meditate on the lyrics and found that I could relate to the song so well. I long to be Mary Magdalene, at the feet of Jesus, pouring out perfume. I long to be in His presence. John Mark McMillan is so raw. So real. Just how I have been feeling. I'm breaking down and I don't care who is around. I'm Mary Magdalene and tonight is a bottle of perfume. ...So meet me here where we shine like gold!

I realize that I can always be aware of HIS presence at any moment, but there is something so rich about being alone with God-- not on a subway or in the midst of a crowd. These are the times I have been longing for. Not when I'm on the brink of exhaustion... but times when I have the day for HIM. Time to let revelation sink into my spirit. The times when I am consumed by the richness of God in His glorious presence-- when I can lay out on my floor and weep or pray and contend-- those times when I can go out to the mountains and cry out his holy name. These are the times that I long for.

I will fight harder for these times. I will rearrange. I will do whatever it takes. But my life cannot continue in this pace without the deep, quiet times of rest before my King.

After reaching this point of exhaustion, I was graced with a day off from work as well as a real Sabbath this Saturday. It was the first in months. Truly, I have been refreshed.

I have learned to relate to God in new ways and sustain His presence even in the busyness of life... but I must and shall fight for my time with HIM. Heidi gives every morning to the Lord-- be it a bike ride or scuba diving-- she spends time with HIM. Finding time like that is hard here. But I must.

O LOVER take me away! Take me to the wilderness! Refresh me! Let me drink deep of your love. Let me find refuge under the shade of your wings. Hold me tight. Keep me close. Speak tenderly to me. Cover me with your grace. Cover me with your love.

It's out of the overflow that we pour out. It's from a place of rest that we let the Father fight out battles. It's from a place of favor and victory that we must live. It's from His heartbeat that our heart beats. It's from His love that we may love. It's from His word that we must eat. It's from His presence that we must walk. It's in HIM where we must abide. I am a branch and He is the vine... May I always abide in HIM. ALWAYS. Even in the busyness. In him I can walk peacefully, even when the rest of the world is frantic and running. In HIM I find life. In Him I can be a life-giver.

You are mine and I am Yours!


--------------------------
Explanation for the pictures:

Someone had a vision of me that I was like a flower grown out of concrete-- that beauty came out of the most unlikely circumstances...

Another person said that the roots of flowers in concrete are eventually strong enough to break through the concrete.

Someone else gave me a word that they saw a vision of me as a tree. The roots were stopped by a rock, but then they broke through the rock and went down deep.

Even if... God is enough!

My roots will go deep, breaking through the rock of busyness and I will drink from living waters! I will not wither. I will be an oak of righteousness planted by living waters! Selah!

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This song has been blessing me a lot lately:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQI4PbKM9kE

"Breaking Down" John Mark McMillan

I'm making plans to waist my life on you
I'm making plans to waist my life on you
Cause New York City and Hollywood combined
They ain't got enough lights
To make me want change my mind about you

Cause I'm breaking down
I don't even care if there's anyone else around
Cause I'm breaking down
I always fall to pieces whenever you're around

I'm Mary Magdalene and tonight is a bottle of perfume
I'm Mary Magdalene and tonight is a bottle of perfume
There's not enough dignity to hold me now
When I know your going to meet me here
There's not enough gravity
To keep me away from you

Cause I'm breaking down
I don't even care if there's anyone else around
Cause I'm breaking down
I always fall to pieces whenever your around

So meet me here
Where we shine like gold
Like the light beneath the embers
Of the burning coals
And I will spill my bottle
Like in days of old
On the song that bleeds from the breaking down

India, where God used even me.

My Testimony

Inida 2010

Nothing I can write will encompass the entirety of our trip to India, for there are too many angles, experiences and perspectives to cover, though one theme entangled and wove its way through the entire team and mission trip: the Father’s heart.

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“He is jealous for me; He loves like a hurricane; I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy…”

These lyrics filled the air numerous times, both in serous and light-hearted settings. We left for India wearing the Father’s love on our shirts and on our hearts. We had great expectations and HIS love proved even greater.

Leading up to India I found myself asking God how He would use me and what He had in store for me on this trip. I had been struggling with confidence in a way that I had not struggled with in a long time and a great doubt came over me that God would use everyone but me. Some people encouraged me that I would be used in a mighty way and this was an attack on my identity. I agreed and went forward, covered in prayer, asking God to help me walk in faith rather than fear. God is so faithful to answer prayers.

Before entering Delhi, God started to raise up boldness in me as well as others on our team. During our flight God’s grace poured out as He empowered us to reach out to several of the flight attendants. One of the most powerful moments on the entire trip was when I walked out of the airplane bathroom to find Mina speaking to one of the flight attendants. Suddenly I was invited into a portal of glory as we prayed for this woman’s neck and back pain. God came down and met her need! Her neck and back pain were gone! After discovering that she had one leg shorter than the other, we asked the Lord to touch her and sure enough, her leg grew out! I could hardly believe my eyes and needed her to verify that indeed, she felt a stretching sensation in her leg!

This was the first time for me, personally, to lay hands and see physical healing other than a headache going away. I was so humbled and honored that God would use even me, one who had doubt that He would heal others through me.

God’s love for the people on the flight began to explode as her testimony went out like a sweet fragrance. By now several of the flight attendants expressed a need for prayer and healing. Two other men received prayer and felt the fire of God in their necks and shoulders; one man claimed he was a Buddhist but he wanted the same love of God that healed his back to come into his heart. After praying he began to bubble up with joy and laughter as he felt a burden lifted off of him. I could not contain my own smiles as I, too, felt God’s deep affections for me. How could he entrust me to minister in such a way that would radically touch someone to the core of his being? It was beautiful to see the Holy Spirit at work so effortlessly.

There was so much faith on the plane that several of the flight attendants asked us to stay back after the flight landed so that we could pray for them as well. Our flight set the precedent for the entire trip. We would recklessly pursue healing for others and know that God’s love was thick enough to come down and touch someone here on earth. My personal faith grew to a new level—especially the belief that God would use even me.

Our team held two revival services the first day—one at Last Resort Church and one at the Kuki Church Service. Both of these revival services had a different flavor and our sensitivity needed to be heightened, so we entered into the sanctuaries ready to roll with the punches.

Our team had really congealed over the course of our training and we had only grown closer since the healing outbreak on the plane. We were ready to roll! Some of the ministry was tough, but the team pushed through, worshiping in a way that would shift the atmosphere. We were to be the thermostat, not the thermometer. During these services we witnessed God break out and touch some people deeply. The floor was opened up for sharing words of knowledge and then we were released to pray. On the outside it seemed quite discouraging, but as we pressed in, we began to see God touching individuals. In the end, we saw about fourteen physical healings including stomach and head pain disappear, arm, shoulder and neck pain go, as well as inner healing take place. We were amazed!

After the revival services we headed for the orphanages. The atmosphere of the two children’s homes is very different. Mary Clare’s is much smaller and tight knit with about 20-something children, mostly from Manipur and Myanmar. Grace home is across the city and has a larger number of children, about 105. The culture there is more of a typical Indian culture.

For me, the most beautiful part of the trip was ministering to the children—or should I say the children ministering to me? Upon arriving at Mary Clare’s Home, I was absolutely in awe by the level of faith and depth of relationship that these children had with the Father. We spent time with the kids, hanging out as well as sharing VBS songs and skits. I even had the chance to slip over to the slums with Danny and befriend some of the children living among the trash. This, in itself, touched me deeply. It seared my heart with a compassion so deep I knew that I would one day return to a place like this.

A Most powerful moment came, when on the roof in the middle of the slums, we all began to sing, “Victory” and shouted this prophetic declaration over all of India: “There’s gonna be revival in this land!…” Everything inside of me believed it! There was such an excitement among the adults and the children began to raise their voices as well, sending out these declarations. It was so moving. I could feel the Father’s heart bleeding with excitement and love!

At Mary Clare’s Home we broke up into smaller groups to pray and coincidentally we witnessed one of the children’s legs grow out as another child commanded the shorter leg to grow! Many of the children knew they were sons of the most High, so they prayed with greater authority. The message shared was on empowerment and how God can use children to do mighty things for the Kingdom; this really raised the level of praise in the house—to a level that brought tears to my eyes. I personally prayed with little Rosie and a few other small ones. Their sincere prayers melted my heart. At one point I had to step back and watch as the children zealously prayed for one another. Who was doing the real ministry here?

After being in a small children’s home we left for Grace Home, ready to pour out more love. By now, I was in love with our team and the way God had woven us together. We truly had become one body and every single person had great importance and significance on the team. The thought of going home and not being around each one of these people was a little disheartening, but I knew that living in this kind of love was a taste of heaven.

Our last revival service at Grace Home manifested a great outpouring of healing and love. The praise and the message raised up the level of faith to a place that rendered the heavens to come down. The primise of the message centered around Jesus’ words, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). Our team shared words of knowledge and then we individually took two children each to go and lay hands on the sick. We all went into the crowd where some people had come 50km or more just to receive a touch from God. And o, how He showed up. The glory was thick in the house. I was once again so excited when the lady we prayed for confirmed that her leg pain was completely gone after years and years of pain. I was so proud of the children and I was so grateful that God would use, even me. That night we saw about ten physical healings as well as some inner healing. It was a testament of the Father’s love sweeping across His children.

Our trip to India was one of love and empowerment. For me, I realized that God will use a broken vessel, such as myself, to meet the needs of others. The anointing is not for me, but rather to give away and touch others with HIS love. I do not have to perform. I only need to love. God will do the rest, for the same spirit that raised Jesus Christ from the dead is living inside of me! It’s all HIS grace. It’s all HIS love.