Читать книгу A Hero's Heart - Joseph David Hightower - Страница 6

Heru Hanabashita was a young man in ancient Japan. He was of a high birth, with his father being the leader of their village. Although his position in the village gave him certain rights and privileges, his father made him go out and work in the fields with the other village people. With all the hours that he put into working Heru had an amazing amount of strength, but you could not tell by his outward appearance. He was tall, almost above average, with dark hair and eyes of an oceanic blue hidden behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses.

His father, Mr. Hanabashita, was a full-blooded Japanese man from a one hundred percent Japanese family. He was a traditionalist of the strictest degree. He has been described as the literal backbone of the Lotus Village. It is said that he was visited in his dreams one night by the ancestors of old, and in their hands, they each held a single solitary lotus flower in perfect bloom, each one a different magnificent color. They instructed Mr. Hanabashita to give a sacrifice every night in their honor, and if this was performed without fail than peace and prosperity would reign in the village, but if just one sacrifice was missed than the protection of the ancestors would be lifted and the village would fall into great ruin and Mr. Hanabashita would die. It goes without saying that old Mr. Hanabashita performed these sacrifices nightly and without fail. Life in the village continued to be peaceful and prosperous. Heru’s mother was of Irish/English descent, with flaming red hair and turquoise eyes. She had come to Japan on a mission trip that was hosted by her church. She had only been to the village a couple of times, when Heru’s father heard about this pale skinned beauty. He decided to be in the village the next time she came to visit. He fell madly in love upon meeting her, and not long after, and to the astonishment to both his family and hers they were married.

They were extremely happy with their quite life in the village, she continued to teach about Jesus and he continued to offer the nightly ancestral sacrifices. Even though Heru’s father didn’t agree with most of her teachings, he loved her enough to allow her to continue. After several years of trying to conceive a child, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. He looked very much like his father except for his eyes; it was the only feature that he inherited from his mother. On the birth of their son a great party was given in his honor, it was then that his mother named him HERU; she did this because she felt the guidance of the Holy Spirit instructing her to do so, and this was to be her son’s destiny. That night, Heru’s father made the long trek up to the sacrificial temple and gave an extra offering in honor of his new son.

As the years passed, both Heru’s mother and his father taught him the ways of each religion. His mother taught him that Jesus was the Son of God and the only way into heaven and his father taught him that to keep peace in the village he must always honor the ancestors. The differences between the two teachings greatly disturbed Heru. He didn’t understand that if his mother was correct, why they must continue to honor the ancestors in the fashion that his father demanded. The more questions that he asked the more confused he became. As the years passed and Heru changed from being a child into a young man, he learned that it was often better to ask nothing and just perform the tasks assigned to him. He memorized Bible scriptures and ancestral names; he helped his mother with her teachings and his father with the offerings. It felt at times that he was being divided right down the middle, yet he loved both his father and mother too much to say anything that might cause them pain.

The day of Heru’s 19^th birthday dawned bright and clear, the sun seeming to smile over the village. Everywhere that Heru went he was greeted with salutations and good wishes. Though everyone around him was happy and full of merriment, Heru was weighed down with the task that he was to perform that night. It would be the first time that he had to gather and give the ancestral offerings by himself. Like many teenagers in the village, all Heru wanted to do was party and have a good time with his friends, but because of how his father was and the responsibilities that came with his position, he could not freely join his friends, not even on his birthday.

Tired of the burden of deciphering between his mother’s beliefs and his father’s edicts, Heru slowly gathered the items for the nightly offering. By the time that he was finished, it was already getting late. He only had until midnight to complete the entire ritual. He hefted the heavy basket that contained everything from fresh fruits, fish, and breads, to the finest flowers that the village had to offer. As he approached the sacrificial temple, he looked up at the number of steps with a heavy heart, there were two hundred stone steps leading up an almost vertical climb. Each step was about a foot high and about three feet across. With a heavy sigh and a look of utter determination, he started the long climb. He counted as he went, five, ten, twenty steps, it seemed that the longer that he climbed the further away the temple sat. Finally, after about forty-five minutes of steady back breaking, leg burning climbing he reached the top.

Upon reaching the top, it seemed that all sound faded away, no birds chirping, no wind blowing, nothing just an eerie silence that seemed to envelope him. As he looked around all he could see was the Ancestral shrine, a group of granite grave stones, and a small tree stump. He walked over to the tree stump and with a tired breath sat down. Thinking that he had enough time to relax for a minute or two, Heru closed his eyes to regain his strength from the long climb. It was not long, however that he fell into a deep and troublesome sleep. As he slept the air turned cold and a fog-like mist settled around him and the temple. It was as if the ancestors were deeply troubled and restless. Out of the fog a sinister form appeared. He was wearing armor that strongly resembled that of a samurai warrior. On the helmet was the face of an angry lion, on the chest was plates of deep crimson. This was a hollow shell of armor for there was no life in it, just a darkness that had no boundaries. The only thing that gave the appearance of life was the two-deep glowing ruby red eyes that looked out from the angry lion face.

As this unloving armor looked around, its eyes settled on the basket that was on the ground next to Heru’s feet, the fact that it was not in the temple where it belonged caused the armor to become enraged, and with a strong breath, it blew the basket from the mountain. It let out a blood curdling roar that shook the mountain and the village below, but still Heru slept. The armor lifted its mighty arm and drew its sword and with a venomous shout, lunged into Heru.

As Heru slept his dreams became more and more troubled. He dreamt of a long road with a woman walking slowing toward him and in her hand, she carried what looked to be a flower pot. As she got closer he could see that there was a lotus blossom in the pot. When she finally reached him, she came to a stop and as Heru watched, the lotus and the flower pot both turned into the sacrificial basket and the woman turned into the nightmare image of all nightmare images. She grew to be over one hundred feet tall and was a menacing empty armor that had the appearance of a samurai. With a panicked shout Heru turned trying to run away from the thing that was bearing down on him; he could feel the evil in the air. He knew that death was close by. The faster that he made his legs move, the slower it seemed the ground moved. With a frightened look, back he could see the armor raise its arm and with a thunderous shout swung the sword down in a lightning fast move that caused the ground to split open beneath Heru’s feet. The chasm that opened seemed to be bottomless with no light and no hope of survival. Heru struggled for a moment on the precipice before plunging down into the void of utter darkness. With a last-ditch effort, he reached out his arm and with just the strength of his fingertips, grabbed onto the ledge and with nothing but pure determination, he hung there trying to pull himself up. He hung there for how long; he wasn’t sure, gasping for breath. As Heru hung there trying to catch his breath the armor walked over and changing back into the woman, gave an evil laugh while lifting the blood drenched sword and with a vicious swing, brought the sword down across Heru’s fingers. A pain like no other completely consumed Heru as he felt himself falling back into the abyss. As he felt himself falling into the soul sucking darkness he remembered one of his mother’s teachings; if ever you find yourself in trouble you can call on the name of Jesus and He will come to your rescue. While plummeting further and further into the darkness the last conscious thought that Heru had was that of him whispering repeatedly the name of Jesus.