RUTH’S FLIGHT FROM BOLIVAR to the Yanoako village over a year ago had been cramped but uneventful. Packing gear and supplies in the small fourseater, adequate for at least six months, had been daunting but doable once the pilot showed her how.
However, the smoothness of the flight did not calm her pounding heart as the pilot began his corkscrew approach to the landing site on a sand bar near the river, and she saw the village for the first time.
The plane had hardly taxied to a stop before a gaggle of naked little children descended on it, their eager hands reaching out to touch the pale-skinned woman and receive what she might give them as she got out.
Ruth was glad Dr. Francisco Lopez, a Christian friend she met while visiting a church in Maracaibo, had helped prepare the village for her arrival. A Last Tribe missionary preceded her to gain permission from the village Elders for her to enter the village. However, Dr. Lopez had been the most help in arranging for her arrival; arrangements that included a new hut freshly built for her by the tribe.
Dr. Lopez was not only a dedicated Christian, but also an official with Venezuela’s National Water Resources Commission and as such made periodic visits down river on the Orinoco checking water levels. On these visits, he had come to know the Shaman of this Yanoako village and more, become a trusted friend. It was this friendship and his government connections that led to Last Tribe Mission’s invitation to be the first outsiders ever to gain permission for a missionary to live among them.
“Bring candy for the children, fish hooks, line and tobacco for the men, and a bolt or two of colorful cloth for the women. An exchange of gifts always precedes a stranger’s entrance into their villages,” Dr. Lopez advised.
He was right. The candy placed in eager outstretched hands not only produced shouts of excitement from the children, but timid half-smiles from their mothers as well…half-smiles that erupted into laughter and giggles when Ruth presented them with the bolts of cloth.
Realizing the men had not joined the women and children in greeting her, but stood in a group apart, she remarked to the pilot that they seemed standoffish.
“Not standoffish Miss Starling, just dignified,” the seasoned pilot, familiar with tribal ways replied. “They’re waiting for you to come to them.”
She had just started walking toward them when the tallest of the group suddenly broke from the others and ran toward her with outstretched arms.
“What the…” The startled pilot had not finished expressing his surprise before the man reached Ruth and embraced her.
“I am Akhu,” he said in imperfect Spanish.
Ruth was grateful she had taken it as a minor in college because she understood him perfectly.
“And you…” He backed away and smiled as he took her measure. “You are the beautiful pale-skinned woman of my visions.” Then, embracing her again, he whispered, “You have kept your promise.”
The pilot was speechless, unable to comprehend this strange reception by the Shaman of the tribe. Finally he blurted out, “I know he knew you were coming Miss Starling, but he acts as if you’re a long lost friend.”
We are long lost friends, but lost no longer,” she replied, placing her hand on Akhu’s shoulder.
Translating for the Shaman what she said to the pilot produced still another hug, then, taking her gently by the arm, he led her to where the other men were standing.
“This is the little sister of my visions he said. She has come to teach us the way to the land of our beginning.”
Though Ruth could not yet understand their tongue, each man’s embrace told her there was no need for fishhooks and tobacco to gain their trust. Akhu’s visions had opened the door for her to share God’s message and her own vision as a child had prepared her heart to enter this strange new jungle world.
Ruth twisted in the cocoon-folds of her hammock. In her dream, her eyes followed rows of empty seats that stretched toward the front of Lone Oak church. To her left and right were more unfilled pews, their rich varnish gleaming warmly in the sunlight shining through the windows. For some reason, the church’s emptiness did not seem strange but only reinforced the feeling God had chosen this time and place to do private business with her.
Suddenly, a crescendo of reedy notes broke the silence, and she was startled to see Minnie Flowers sitting on the organ bench. A cascade of yellow crocuses spilled from the top of the organ cabinet and down both sides. I didn’t know Miss Minnie could play the organ. The old woman’s hands swept over the keys. She lifted one to wave without seeming to miss a note. Through the windows, Ruth saw a sea of golden wheat and a shimmering wake marking the passing of a horse and rider moving through it toward the church.
In a moment, Ruth saw the rider’s face clearly. Timmy! It couldn’t be! Her little brother was only a memory from childhood, yet here he was, all four-feet-three of him, Stetson and all, just as she remembered. And he was riding Gypsy—right up to the church door.
He dismounted, and now he was coming inside. She could hardly contain her amazement. Her eyes followed him as he walked confidently down the aisle and toward the pulpit.
“Come up here, Timmy, and lead us in an offertory hymn.” Pastor Travis suddenly appeared and gestured to the boy to join him on the platform.
The pastor’s invitation produced an instant change in Tim’s appearance. He was still the little boy of Ruth’s memories, but now he wore a shepherd’s robe, just like the one her mother had made him for the Christmas pageant.
Miss Flowers began to play “Jesus Loves Me” as Timmy mounted the platform, and then turned to the congregation of one.
“Come on, everybody, let’s sing,” he shouted with the same enthusiasm he had demonstrated on the night of the pageant.
Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…
At first only she and Timmy were singing, but soon she was aware that an invisible choir had joined them.
“Will the ushers please come forward to receive the morning offering as we sing the last verse?” Timmy said.
Jesus loves me, he who died, heaven’s gates to open wide…
As Ruth sang, she sensed others had entered the church and were coming down the aisle behind her. She heard their voices joining in the song before she saw them. Their words sounded strange but the melody was the same.
He will wipe away our sins…
Her heart jumped when she saw them. Four brown-skinned men, naked except for their loincloths, walked somberly toward the communion table at the front of the church.
Let his little ones come in…
Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.
As the song ended, Timmy stepped back from the pulpit and the pastor took his place.
“Akhu, please lead us in the offertory prayer,” he said.
A broad-shouldered man, whose regal bearing set him apart from the others, lifted his face toward heaven and began to pray. Ruth could not understand his words, but his spirit was transparent. She felt certain he was pleading with God for his people.
When he finished, she watched with apprehension as the four men began moving up the aisle again. Each stopped where she sat and held out his plate to her. But every time she tried to put in a bill, each man quickly drew back his plate with a sob.
“They don’t want your money, Ruth.” Pastor Travis had left the platform and was standing beside her. “They want you to give them something more precious than that.”
The scene changed as quickly as it began. She was no longer in the church, but standing at the edge of a dark forest. The four brown-skinned men were also there and had started down a trail into the forest. They gestured for her to follow.
For the first time since her dream began, she was afraid.
“You should be afraid,” a voice hissed from the shadows. “No one knows where you are, Ruth. There is no one who can help you. You are all alone.”
“No, you’re not!” A familiar voice caused her to turn. Jerry!
“Remember my promise, Ruthie,” he said, breaking into a smile as bright as sunrise. “I’ll always be there when you need me. Always.”
“Jerry, I need you now!” she cried.
“Not yet, love, but soon you will…” As if painted on a canvas of gossamer threads, his image dissolved in the sunlight breaking through the canopy of trees. “Soon…soon…” his voice trailed away to a whisper and was lost in the breeze that rustled the leaves about her.
“Jerry! Jerry, wait!” she cried.
The chatter of monkeys jerked her from her fitful sleep, her lips still forming Jerry’s name as she opened her eyes and saw Akhu, his body framed in sunlight, standing in the doorway of her hut.
“You were troubled as you slept little sister. You kept calling a name.”
“Jerry?” Ruth’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Akhu nodded. “Is he someone you fear little sister?”
“No, Akhu, he’s a dear, dear friend. I dreamed he was here with us.”
“Some of my people also dreamed again last night.” His somber face grew sadder still. “The same dream as before.”
Ruth did not respond. How many times in the last several months had he brought her the same report, she wondered. A dozen? Fifty? Each time he stood patiently waiting for an explanation. An explanation she could not give.
“I don’t understand it, Akhu, at least not yet,” she finally said, certain her admission would bring the same response as always.
“When the god above all others chooses, you will, little sister,” he replied before he turned and walked out of the hut.
I hope so, she thought, and prayed again that soon she would hear from Dr. Neisen. She felt desperate to unravel the mystery and somehow knew time to do so was running out, that the dreams were harbingers of some event yet to unfold.