Master K is out for the cross country team this fall. It's a small team; I believe there are only 5 or 6 boys from the high school participating. They run after school every day, around 5 miles or sometimes more.
Last week one afternoon, it was warm and sunny out, not hot enough for the coach to call off the daily run, but warm. They run down the middle of the road, so K had the sun beating down from overhead, and heat bouncing off the black pavement from below. He was getting dehydrated and feeling bad. The runners had spread out to run at their own pace, and nobody was near him, nor was anyone behind him near enough to see him.
He began to feel faint. He told me later that black stuff was closing in on his field of vision from all around. He knew he was in trouble. He prayed that God would get him some water and some shade. (He didn't stop running or get off the road, which I don't understand.) His field of vision contracted smaller and smaller as he grew closer to losing consciousness.
Then the next thing he remembers is waking up again - not in the middle of the road, not in a hospital bed or an ambulance or in Heaven, but well off the road, beneath the shade of a tree, lying in some grass. As he started to sit up, the coach pulled up in his car and stopped it on the road just by K - but he didn't seem to notice him at all until K tried to stand up. Coach looked surprised, hopped out of the car and told him, "K! No walking. Keep running." Then he handed him a bottle of water, jumped back in his car and took off. K doesn't know why he stopped at that particular place on the road in the first place.
I'm so thankful that things were not much, much different. Moms imagine in Technicolor, and I had the whole vision of him blacking out, crashing down to hit his head on the pavement, skull fracture, blood everywhere, cars running him over, the works.
I'm also glad that the way K started out this story was, "Mom, God was really taking care of me today." He knows how it happened.