Wheat Harvest Magazine (2026)

Wheat Harvest Magazine is a Magazine that shares the truth of God's word and the testimonies of those who have experienced the love, grace, favor and faithfulness of God.

30/03/2026

What Does It Mean to Have More Than Enough?
It’s a question I often wondered about while growing up. I was taught that people move through seasons in life where they experience less than enough, just enough, or more than enough.

As a child, this idea never made sense to me. I saw people born wealthy who remained so throughout their lives. They could buy anything they wanted and live however they pleased. At the same time, I saw others who were born into lack—families who struggled from the beginning and, for many, that struggle continued throughout their lives.

So the idea that someone could move from “less than enough” to “more than enough” felt confusing. It seemed like some people were simply born into one category and stayed there.

As I grew older, I realized the measurement was wrong. We were taught to measure “enough” only in terms of financial wealth. But that is neither accurate nor biblical. Yes, the Bible says that “money answereth all things” (Ecclesiastes 10:19, KJV) — and money certainly helps in many ways — so long as we do not allow it to control or define us. But money alone is not the measure of abundance.

What Does It Mean to Have Less Than Enough?
The simplest way to describe it is this: You wake up, look around at your life—your environment, your relationships, your circumstances—and something inside you knows: “I do not belong here.”

Not because of pride.
Not because of envy.
But because there is a deep, undeniable need that your current situation cannot meet.
A need beyond your control.
A need you cannot figure out how to fulfill.
A need you cannot even believe for.

That is less than enough. The Bible gives many examples of people who experienced this. In 2 Kings 4:1–7, we meet a widow whose husband had died, leaving her with overwhelming debt. The creditors were coming to take her sons as slaves. She had lost her provider, her protector, her partner—and now her children were about to be taken from her.

She had less than enough — emotionally, financially, spiritually, and practically. Many people live in that place today:
Less than enough food
Less than enough support
Less than enough hope
Less than enough resources
Less than enough faith

What Does It Mean to Have Just Enough? Just enough is when your needs are met—but barely. You pay your bills, but only just. You buy food, but only the essentials. You work a job, but it doesn’t draw on your gifts or potential. You survive, but you do not thrive.

In the story, when the widow cried out to Elisha, he asked her: “What hast thou in the house?” Her answer was simple: “Thine handmaid hath not any thing in the house, save a pot of oil.” — 2 Kings 4:2 (KJV)

This was a just enough moment.
Something small. Something ordinary. Something she never imagined could change her life. But God often begins with just enough.
For many of us, that “small jar of oil” looks like:
A little faith
A little strength
A little creativity
A little persistence
A little hope

It may seem insignificant — but God can use it. What Does It Mean to Have More Than Enough? More than enough is not about luxury — it’s about overflow. It’s when you look around your life and see no area where lack is ruling.
Your children are safe.
Your home is stable.
Your finances are healthy.
Your relationship with God is strong.
Your mind is at peace.
Your spirit is steady.
Your emotions are whole.

You carry the fruit of the Spirit — love, joy, peace, patience, kindness — and it shows. You are mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically well. And because you are full, you can pour into others.
You can give wisdom.
You can give support.
You can give encouragement.
You can give resources.
You become a vessel of blessing.

The Transition From Just Enough to More Than Enough
Elisha told the widow to borrow many vessels and pour her oil into them. Here, the miracle began. God took what she had — her just enough — and multiplied it. But she had to participate.
She had to pour.
She had to act.
She had to believe that what she had was enough for God to use.

This is the part that struck me deeply. She moved from less than enough, to just enough, to more than enough — but the transition required her to revisit what she already possessed.

The very thing she overlooked was the key to her breakthrough. And the same is true for us. We will never reach more than enough if we refuse to use what we already have — our gifts, our skills, our ideas, our faith, our voice.

Why would God entrust us with more if we are not faithful with what is already in our hands?

The Outcome
The Bible says the widow sold the oil, paid her debts, protected her children, and lived on the rest. She moved into a more than enough life — one that no longer required her to beg, borrow, or depend on others for survival.

A Final Thought
I woke up with this message heavy on my heart: more than enough is possible, and I pray this encourages you today.
Do not settle for less than enough.
Do not remain in just enough.
Reach for everything God has for you.
Reach for more than enough.

May you experience more of God today —
more peace,
more joy,
more patience,
more favor,
more blessings,
and more of His goodness in the land of the living.

06/01/2026

“Though you were little in your own eyes, are you not the head of the tribes of Israel? The LORD anointed you king over Israel.” (1 Samuel 15:17)

Growing up, I was taught that humility was essential to a life that follows Christ Jesus. To truly glimpse who God is—to see, even dimly, a supreme, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God who left the splendor of heaven to die for us out of a love so vast it is beyond my ability to grasp it truly. It leaves only one fitting response.

Humility.

To come into contact with, or even imagine, that kind of holiness and that kind of love is overwhelming. It reorders everything!
To be humble was to be rightly positioned before God—to deeply know that I was not the center, not the source, not the authority. If I am small, I can never be the center. Humility was safety. It kept the lines clear between Creator and created, between Giver and receiver, between source and vessel.

Then I went to school, and I learned a different language.

I was taught to believe in myself. And believing in myself often meant—subtly, but steadily—that there was nothing outside of me to account for my success. My grades were no longer the result of the Lord who inspires, the God from whom all wisdom flows (James 1:5). They became the product of my intelligence, my effort, my discipline. I was taught to trust my abilities while quietly ignoring their source.
I was taught to be confident. Decisive. Self-assured.

And in many ways, this was necessary. Teachers rewarded confidence. Good grades rewarded competence. Doubt was quietly discouraged. Self-sufficiency was praised as maturity. Over time, the line between using the abilities God gave me and believing the abilities came from me became increasingly blurred. There is a subtle danger in success—not in growth itself, but in forgetting who is driving it. What begins as gratitude can slowly turn into ownership. What starts as stewardship can quietly shift into authorship. And if we are not careful, confidence stops being a tool and starts becoming a foundation. Scripture never condemns ability.

But it consistently warns us about the risk of source confusion.

To remain small in our own eyes is not to deny gifting, intelligence, or growth. It is to remember—consistently and intentionally—that the source is never us. God is the source. God is the flow. God is the authority above our reasoning and the wisdom beyond our plans (Proverbs 3:5–6).
Remaining small in our own eyes means that, even when we decide, we do so under God. Even when we lead, we lead submitted. Even when we act boldly, we do not confuse boldness with independence.

The moment we begin to see ourselves as the source, something shifts. Decision-making becomes self-protective. Obedience becomes conditional. Prayer becomes consultation rather than submission. And slowly—often imperceptibly—something other than God begins to drive us.

Anything that replaces God as the source becomes a god (Exodus 20:3).
Saul’s mistake was not that he lacked ability or that he lacked opportunity. But he stopped being small in his own eye. Saul feared losing people more than losing obedience (1 Samuel 15:24). He trusted his judgment over God’s command (1 Samuel 15:9–11). He offered sacrifice instead of submission (1 Samuel 13:11–14). And when God no longer answered him, Saul did not repent—he sought another source (1 Samuel 28:6–7). Saul made himself large, and in doing so, displaced God from the center.

David chose differently. When Michal, Saul’s daughter, despised David for dancing before the Lord, David did not defend his dignity. He lowered himself further: “I will celebrate before the LORD. I will make myself yet more contemptible than this, and I will be abased in my own eyes.” (2 Samuel 6:21–22). David never confused calling with ownership. He never mistook ability for authority. He could stand confidently before giants and still abase himself before God. His strength flowed from dependence, not self-elevation. Humility, then, is not thinking less of ourselves—it is never thinking of ourselves as the source. It is the daily choice to keep God elevated above our reasoning, our instincts, our fear, and our success. It is the quiet discipline of remembering who initiates, who sustains, and who ultimately directs the outcome.

To remain small in our own eyes is not weakness.
It is clarity.
It is safety.
It is worship.

And perhaps it is the only posture that keeps our confidence from turning into a crown we were never meant to wear.

God does not need my explanation—He desires my obedience.
God does not need my defense—He desires my trust.
God does not need my sacrifice if my heart is resisting His word (1 Samuel 15:22).
Saul lost the kingdom because he made himself large.
David kept God’s favor because he was willing to become smaller.

As we step into a new year, 2026—with new goals, new responsibilities, and new opportunities—may we remain small in our own eyes clear about who leads and who sustains. Let us be careful for nothing (Philippians 4:6). “He has shown you, O man, what is good; And what does the LORD require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8)

16/11/2025

A few months ago, I had eye surgery in one eye. They went in and sewed my retina together because it had torn. My vision was not expected to improve—the hole was unusually large, and the shape was unusual. This type of tear usually happens to people in their 70s or older. I was decades early. Nothing in my medical history increased my risk.

When I asked why this happened, the surgeon answered, “Bad luck.” But I don’t believe in luck. I don’t think my life is a series of random events. I believe my steps are ordered by God, even when the path is unclear. “A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps” (Proverbs 16:9). And: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart… in all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” (Proverbs 3:5–6)

Despite the bleak expectations, my vision did improve. I went from 20/500—meaning I was seeing at 20 feet what others could see at 500 feet—to 20/50, ten times better. It still wasn’t what it once was, but I was grateful. Deeply grateful. I thanked God because I was functional, and every day I expected complete healing despite the statistics.

“Is there no balm in Gilead…?” (Jeremiah 8:22)

Yes, there is. And His name is Jesus. For a while, I felt steady. Then, a few weeks before a major two-day exam, my other eye began acting up. I noticed gaps—blind spots—when I looked at things. My “good eye” was now doing the same thing the first eye had done. Fear tried to grip me. This eye had compensated for months; it was the reason I didn’t notice the first tear earlier. It had been dependable—and now it was failing me. And the timing could not have been more difficult. But God had not changed. “For I am the Lord, I change not” (Malachi 3:6).

The situation changed, and I felt the weight of it, but I steadied myself in God’s Word. I reminded my heart of what I knew: there is still a balm in Gilead. I said it until my spirit agreed: “There is a balm in Gilead, and no matter what it looks like, my eyes will be healed.”

This was not the end of my story. “Being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it…” (Philippians 1:6).
He had not brought me this far to leave me. I reflected on His past faithfulness—on what He had already carried me through. God is compassionate and kind, and His Word says He is “a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness” (Psalm 86:15).

I saw the retina specialist. They confirmed that the retina in the good eye had lifted. I asked what I could do to prevent a complete tear. My surgeon was honest—he did not know. Doing nothing might tear it. Doing something might tear it. All he could say was, “You have to wait and see what the eye will do.”

Meanwhile, my exam approached—two full days of testing—hours each day—and no updated glasses. Postponing meant postponing my life another year. Taking it meant struggling to see.

I prayed. I cried. I sought God’s direction. And after careful consideration, I chose not to postpone. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made. The testing center allowed me to pull the screen close, enlarge the font, and take breaks to rest my eyes. By God’s grace, I finished both days. Trusting the God who has helped me every time and has never let me down, even when I have disappointed Him.
Once the crisis had settled, God began teaching me something deeper. It is often easier to trust God when the situation is impossible—when we know we cannot fix it ourselves. In moments like that, we run to Jesus.

But what about trusting Him in the everyday things we assume will always work? We trust our feet without thinking. We stand up expecting them to work. We trust our eyes without thinking. We look at something expecting to see it. Yet the truth is this: we only walk because God allows us to walk. We only see because God will enable us to see. “In Him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28). Everything we consider automatic is actually sustained by His mercy.

And as I learn this, I hold tightly to this promise: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6). I did not understand what was happening to my eyes. I could not predict the outcome. During my exam, I could not rely on my own strength or abilities. What I thought I could depend on without thinking—my eyes—I no longer could. But when I acknowledged the Lord—when I brought my fear, my exam, my uncertainty to God—He directed my path. He gave me courage. God carried me through.

Because the truth is: nothing is automatic. Every heartbeat, every breath, every moment of clear vision—physical or spiritual—is a gift sustained by His hands. He holds all of that, and He has me.

This is the simple thought I share today: Trust God with everything—even the things that seem trivial and automatic. “Cast all your care upon Him, for He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).

04/10/2025

Rosie was asked to take on a task at work that required her to speak in front of a thousand people at a major event. She was highly competent — no one doubted that. But there was one thing she always struggled with: public speaking. Rosie preferred working behind the scenes and doing the work quietly, without the spotlight. The idea of standing in front of a crowd made her uncomfortable.

Still, she decided to push herself outside her comfort zone and give it her best shot.
Shivering, nervous, and unsure, she kept writing her speech. She practiced it day and night. She made so many mistakes while rehearsing that at times she thought of giving up. But she pressed on, pushing past her self-doubt and worry.

The day finally came. As she walked toward the podium, she could picture herself stumbling or stuttering. But she kept climbing the stairs. She held onto the tiniest sliver of courage and trusted it would be enough. And would you believe it — she did it. Not only did she deliver the speech, but it was a huge success. Her words were remembered for years to come.

Years later, Rosie looked back and smiled. She remembered how she had overcome and grown. And how much she went on to achieve because she dared to step forward in the very place she once feared most.

“Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, ‘Fill the jars with water’; so they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, ‘Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.’ They did so”( John 2:6–8).
The story of Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana was a moment where everything could have gone terribly wrong. The wine had run out. The couple faced shame and embarrassment in front of their guests. Yet what stood out to me this time wasn’t the miracle itself. It was the jars.

I’ve read this story many times, but this time I noticed something different: the water was already there, and the jars were already there too — ordinary vessels, standing close by, waiting to be used.

Imagine if they hadn’t been. Someone would’ve had to find a source of water and then hunt for containers to carry it. That would have taken time. It might even have exposed the problem to everyone at the banquet. But instead, the jars were nearby — within reach, ready to be filled. The water was there too, close at hand.

The Bible says, “Nearby stood six stone water jars.” They were available. They were adequate in size, large enough to hold twenty to thirty gallons each. They were clean enough because they were used for ceremonial washings. And they were enough — because Jesus didn’t tell the people to get something else. He simply asked them to use what was already present.

When availability and obedience come together, that’s where transformation begins. Everything needed for the miracle was already there, waiting. This wasn’t just a matter of convenience. It was a powerful metaphor.

The jars had been made for purification — symbols of the old covenant, focused on outward cleansing. But Jesus repurposed them to hold wine — a symbol of joy, abundance, and the new covenant. The transformation wasn’t only physical; it was spiritual. The old wasn’t discarded. It was fulfilled and elevated.

And the water itself? It wasn’t rare or special. It was ordinary, familiar, part of tradition. But in Jesus’ hands, it became something extraordinary. That tells us something: God’s transforming power doesn’t always begin with something new. It starts with what we already have — our gifts, our routines, even our weaknesses.
Mary’s words linger: “Do whatever he tells you.” And they did. Their obedience shows us that faith doesn’t always require preparation. It requires readiness. The miracle didn’t depend on their effort. It depended on their trust and availability.
And here’s something else: to most of the guests, Jesus looked ordinary — just another face in the crowd. But Mary saw differently. She trusted what others could not yet see.

Rosie didn’t think she had what it took. She felt too nervous, too ordinary, too unprepared. But like those stone jars, she was available. And when courage and obedience came together, she discovered that everything she needed was already there.

Sometimes we look at ourselves and see only emptiness or weakness. But God sees a vessel He can use. It’s not about being perfect, polished, or impressive. It’s about being present, available, and willing to be filled.

Maybe for you, it’s speaking up in a meeting. Leading a training session. Sharing an idea you’ve been holding back. Perhaps it’s applying for a job you’re not sure you’ll get, starting a new project, or saying yes to a call that scares you. Maybe it’s having an honest conversation with someone you love, even though it feels risky.

We often wait for the “right conditions” before we act, speak, or believe. But the story of Cana reminds us: what we need may already be present. The jars are available. The water is waiting. And the miracle begins not when we go searching, but when we offer what we already have to be transformed.

So the next time you feel unprepared or not enough, remember:
The water was already there. The jars were already there. And so are you.
🙏🏾

30/08/2025

There are moments in life when news about someone we love compels us to act immediately. Sometimes the news is joyful—a cousin announcing a wedding, a child receiving their first-choice university acceptance, or a friend buying their first home. Other times it brings sorrow—illness, job loss, divorce, or a sudden move across the world. In both joy and pain, our instinct is the same: to reach out. We want to call, show up, help, comfort, and celebrate. Love urges us to act—to mend what is broken and to share in what is good.

However, not everything can be fixed in a moment. Some seasons demand patience. Some wounds need time before they begin to heal. Some journeys can only be walked slowly, step by step.

During these times, another kind of love is needed—a love that doesn't rush. It is the love that shows up quietly and listens before speaking. The love that prays before picking up the phone. The love that finds you in the middle of your storm and chooses to stay—not to judge, not to fix, but simply to be present. It waits with you. It sits beside you in the struggle. It remains until the right moment comes to help you rise again. This love doesn't require change before offering comfort. It doesn't retreat when things get hard. It stays.

I recall a time in college when a dear friend was going through a challenging season. Drinking had become her escape, her way of coping. One night, we found her in her apartment, sitting in a pool of vomit. She had become so intoxicated that she had thrown up all over the room. She looked so lost—like she had placed all her hope in this escape, only to find it had failed her. We saw her brokenness— and we stayed. We cleaned. We waited. We helped her through the night. We loved her in her struggles, cared for her in her mess, and embraced her in her pain.

I had never walked that road myself, but I could still love her in the storm. I could still help her through the brokenness. I could still be with her after the pain.
That is the God we serve—the One who declares: 'I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness' (Jeremiah 31:3)
No matter how broken we are, no matter how flawed, no matter the mistakes we've made—God loves us. He waits for us to see His love. He embraces us in the pain, the shame, and the struggles of life. His love is not conditional on our perfection. His love doesn't disappear when we fall short. His love is steady. His love is patient. His love never gives up.

So if you're reading this and you've heard about someone going through a difficult time—remember that love isn't always about finding quick answers or speaking the right words. Sometimes the greatest gift is choosing to love someone in the waiting. Be present. Be patient. Be kind. And if you are the one in a waiting season—hurting, grieving, or regretting—remember: you are not alone. You are loved. You are valued. God sees you. And no matter how stormy, broken, or painful life feels—God cares. God loves you in the wait. God is always there with love! His love is big enough, wide enough, deep enough, and strong enough.

Romans 8:35 (MSG)
"Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ's love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture."

27/07/2025

For the past few years, it has become increasingly difficult to see, and the situation has worsened significantly over the last year. I chalked it up to needing a stronger eye prescription and assumed my next eye exam would take care of it. So, I waited. Life was busy right now, a blessing because it hadn't been for a while, and I didn't want to stop, so I convinced myself it could wait a little longer. I was productive despite the issue.

Eventually, I went in for the eye exam. After the initial tests, they had another area with frames, so I tried on a few, compared deals, and was excited to walk out with a new pair of glasses. Then the doctor called me in for her exam. She initially thought the same thing —that there was a change in prescription. But as she retested, the concern in her eyes overshadowed her features. Her tone shifted the moment she looked back at my retina scan from the last exam. She told me there was a hole in my retina. I would need to see a retina specialist sooner rather than later. And until then, no new glasses. I walked out of the office feeling unsure of what I was feeling. Deep inside, I knew I could not ignore it.

That was the beginning of a journey I had not expected. The specialist confirmed the diagnosis: one eye had a full-thickness macular hole with a posterior tear, and the retina in the other was beginning to lift off. I was legally blind in one eye and at risk of losing vision in the other. There was no clear cause. The doctor mentioned that it may be due to something that was missed in childhood, but he was unsure. So, there is no clear future for prevention and no clear guarantee of recovery. He spoke of surgery—complicated, risky, with low odds of restoring vision. Doing nothing meant staying blind in one eye and risking the other eye.

I was stunned. I sat there, silent. I couldn't even cry. My thoughts were a blur of fear, confusion, and grief. I had just come through one of the hardest seasons of my life—one that had stolen over a decade from me. I was finally moving on. Over the last year, I felt joy and fulfillment after a long time of living in constant fear. And just when I finally thought I was moving forward, this. I waited. This was on me. But the Lord is always an easier to blame.

For a brief, unguarded moment, (shamefully) I turned my heart toward the Lord and asked, "Is there no one else, Lord? Why me again?" I caught myself. That question was wrong, selfish, and irreverent. Who was I to question the Lord? I repented, remembering how kind and faithful God has always been to me. The Lord had carried me through every second of those lost dark years. I know better. I do not deserve anything; everything God afforded me is a gift, and it demands an attitude of gratitude. I live for the LORD's pleasure. My life is God's to direct. I am created for God's glory, not mine, something I sometimes forget. I had made the decision to delay testing. According to the doctors, there was nothing in my medical history that explained why this happened. This happened.

I would not be presumptuous and equate myself with Job who was described as a perfect man. But I will borrow his words when he was going through an impossible series of terrible events. Job said in chapter 2, verse 10, "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" And in Job 1:21, he said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." Job was frustrated, but never allowed that to affect his perspective of reverence and gratitude to his God.

What I Am Learning?

Lesson 1: Nothing comes to me that hasn't first passed through God's hands.
I belong to Almighty God. My life is the Lord's. The Lord God is sovereign. I look to God for answers because God is my source. Nothing that happens to me is without thought or purpose. Nothing happens without the Lord's consent. What appears to be a detour is a direct path in His design. There is purpose even in this. Granted, I don't yet know the whole lesson or the full purpose—and perhaps I never will. But I will trust the One who has always held me, who has always led me with Gentle Hands. I believe He will bring me to His expected end for me. Psalm 139:16 says, "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

Lesson 2: The clay cannot dictate to the Potter.
I may dislike the shaping. I may resist the fire that the Potter uses—but I trust the Hands that mold me. God is not reckless. The Lord is deliberate. Every pressure, every turn on the wheel is intentional. God does not waste pain. God is the definition of kindness. Isaiah 64:8 says, "But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand." Jeremiah 29:11 says, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a future and a hope."

Lesson 3: If He parted the Red Sea, He will part the Jordan too.
The first time the seas parted, it was dramatic—walls of water towering high on either side. It was unmistakable and unforgettable. But the second time something like this happened, it was different. It came years later, and the miracle required something more.

At the edge of the flooded Jordan River, God didn't part the waters ahead of time. This time, the Lord gave different instructions. God told the priests to step into the water first. Only after their feet touched the river did the waters begin to part. It took a step of faith before the miracle unfolded.

Faith sometimes looks like waiting—standing still at the edge of the Red Sea with nowhere to go. But other times, faith means stepping into deep, uncertain waters, trusting that God will make a way where there is none.

Joshua had already seen the Red Sea part under Moses' leadership. He had seen what God could do. But now, faced with another body of water and the same impossible situation, he had to believe again. Although it was a different sea, it is still the same God. The need was still the same: they had to get through. And Joshua had seen it before. Joshua 3:15-16 says, "As soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water's edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing." Exodus 14:14 says, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."

My life, as it has always been, is in God's hands—for His glory, His direction, His timing, and His plan. I may not always understand or respond the way I should, but I will always trust. God has never failed me. I have felt the Lord's love all my life, especially during the difficult times. And I have been here before. The problem is irrelevant because God is the same, all-powerful! So I will do the only thing I know works: keep my eyes, heart, and mind fixed on the Lord.

I will end with Isaiah 26:3, "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you." Beloved, the Lord continue to bless you! Have a God-centered day!

Address

Website

https://wheatharvestmagazine.com/

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Wheat Harvest Magazine posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Business

Send a message to Wheat Harvest Magazine:

Wheat Harvest Magazine