“The Blanket, The Dream, and the Song”

By Alex Atkinson Jr.

There are moments in life that are too exact, too timely, too profound to be coincidence. I want to share one of those moments with you—an experience that has stayed with me for years and still stirs something deep in my spirit.

I was living in California at the time. One night, before our regular home group meeting, I had a vivid dream—so vivid it woke me up and lingered in my thoughts the next morning. In the dream, a man stood before our group, speaking. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I saw him clearly. He called me forward and “protocoled” me—something I wasn’t raised with or fully understood at the time. In the dream, he draped a large wool blanket over my shoulders, one with Native designs, vibrant and heavy with meaning. As he placed it on me, he spoke of how the Creator had called me to lead our people. Then, just like that, the dream faded.

I woke up thinking, What was that?

The next morning, I arrived at the house for our meeting. People were getting the coffee and donuts ready—everything smelled like breakfast and fellowship. As I walked in, I noticed a man behind the counter. I’d never met him before. But when our eyes met, we both froze for a second.

“I know you,” he said.

“I know you too,” I replied. “You were in my dream last night.”

We both laughed, a little startled, a little amazed. His name was Reesey. We sat down, and he began sharing about his journey—how he had been learning about Native American culture, about honor, land, music, and story. And just like in my dream, he stood up, spoke to the group, called me forward, and protocoled me. He reached into his bag, pulled out a Native American wool blanket, and draped it over my shoulders.

He spoke about the calling our Creator had placed on my life, calling forth things that had been buried, dormant—things that were waiting to awaken.

I was wrecked. In the best way. It was one of those moments you don’t forget, that marks you for life.

Then Reesey shared another story—one that shook me even more.

He told us about a group of First Nations people from the Pacific Northwest who had traveled with a woman named Linda Prince to British Columbia, and then all the way to Jerusalem. They sought permission to sing and honor the land and its leaders at the Western Wall. With permission granted, they approached the wall in full regalia, singing the songs of our people—the drum echoing through the holy site.

As they sang, the rabbis came out, visibly moved.

“Why are you singing the songs of our people?” they asked.

“These are the songs of our people,” the leaders replied. “Songs buried for generations. We believe now is the time to bring them back.”

The rabbis, stunned, responded, “You don’t understand. You’re singing in ancient high Hebrew. These are songs of worship given by the Creator.”

Let that sink in.

The rabbis told them: You might be the lost tribe of Israel.

How do you explain that?

You don’t. Not with logic, anyway. Only the Creator could orchestrate something so layered, mysterious, and beautiful.

That story has stayed with me just as much as my dream about Reesey. It awakened something in me—something ancestral, something holy, something deeply tied to identity, purpose, and land.

I believe these songs, these stories, these blankets of calling are rising again. And I believe our Creator is on the move.

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“The songs of our people are being awakened again.”
—Alex Atkinson Jr.