“This visitor does make a difference. He is a friend of Harold’s - a preacher, I understand, from America who just arrived by plane. He’s coming to see you! Three guesses why; I have my own opinion.” Deborah glanced out of the window as a black taxi pulled to the curb and an American gentleman stepped out. “Oh, Lydia, my hair! Let me run and straighten myself out. You go to the door.” The preacher, Jack Wyrtzen, could speak no Portuguese, but, as Deborah’s mother likes to say, the Lord had already provided an interpreter. Dona Lydia, consecrated founder of the Brazilian Caiawa Mission to Indians, had been brought up by American missionaries. She stood with Deborah’s parents as they opened the door. The preacher, who had come from America to look over the situation, found himself being looked over from head to foot by the keen searching eyes of a discerning little lady whose dedicated and sacrificial life as a Brazilian missionary to the Indians has been an inspiration to hundreds. In correct English and a charming Brazilian manner she introduced herself, the family, and, last of all, the lovely, blue-eyed girl who entered the room. Wyrtzen’s concern was the evangelization of seventy million Brazilians. He had pictured them as being mostly dark-skinned natives. Suddenly he discovered that Brazil’s great natural contrasts are carried out also in its people. Amusingly the interpreter became chief spokeswoman. In her
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