Last evening I am at the local driving range hitting a bucket of balls.  It’s a cool fall evening.  Not many people are there.  In fact, there are about 7 of us there in  a range that has 50 stalls.  I am hitting away trying to get my 7 iron to quit hooking when I hear the sound of a golf bag falling over.  I think nothing of it til I hear some one yell “he’s having a heart attack”.  I look over and literally 3 stalls over from me, some 15 feet away, is a guy flat on his back twitching and grasping the air.

Being the closest I get there first yelling to another fellow “call 911”.  I am not a medic nor a trained first aid person.  I don’t know what’s going on medically.  All I see is a guy thrashing on the ground, eyes rolled backwards, dangerously close to smashing his head on the concrete.  I jump in and hold his head from further hurt all the time talking to him inviting him to calm down.  Suddenly, after a minute he slows down.  His eyes return but they are big as saucers.  Fear registers through his facial expression.  He now tries to stand up and I am holding him and hugging him to keep him from falling over.  He’s a bigger man than I am and I am using my body as a shield to keep him from hurting himself.  And then all of a sudden, he grows limp and falls to the ground again.  As I lower him down I realize he’s just exhausted and fatigue is pulling him down.  With the help of a few onlookers we cover him with our jackets to keep him warm.  Though it was only 8 minutes before the 911 personnel get there, it seemed about 28 minutes.

Once they arrived, I stepped back from the situation to let the professionals work.  I wandered about 20 feet away to a bench and sat down.  The adrenaline was coursing through my veins at this point and I won’t lie to you, “I felt something.”  I could have used a shot or two of that oxygen the medics were giving.

Turns out, it wasn’t a heart attack, it was a seizure.  They took him off to the local hospital.  I never heard his name.  He never knew mine.

After all was said and done one of the other golfers came to me to say “thanks” for my efforts.  He called “heroic”.  Me?  I’m no hero.  I am just a guy who saw someone needing help and I stepped in, imperfectly, even blindly.

As I processed the entire event I thought about what it means to be a follower of Jesus.  I am one.  Sometimes I talk too much and do too little.as a Jesus follower.  Lately I have been personally and inwardly challenged to stop talking and start doing more.  Last night was an opportunity to take my own words to heart.

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