Have you ever seen one of the videos about Team Hoyt? If you haven't, read no further, just watch this very special father and son team in action. Here for example. Hoyt junior has severe cerebral palsy and expressed a desire to run. So Hoyt senior strapped on his running shoes. Now they run triathlons together with the father lifting, pushing and carrying his son. His son, he says, does the racing. He is merely his legs. If you doubt that, watch Rick Hoyt's eyes and body language as they race.

I ended up watching one of their videos again the other night, after sending someone else the link. And not for the first time I cried like a baby. And I ended up wondering what it is that makes me so emotional about it. Part of it is that I am blessed to live with a father and son team that, although at somewhat smaller scale, is remarkably similar. My husband Peter considers it his duty and joy to help Nathan explore areas where he cannot go by himself. The buggy is only used when I'm out with Nathan on my own. When daddy is around, Nathan 
travels on his shoulders and they go everywhere. The familiar image of my boys travelling together in this way is my very favourite one and actually, Peter is much harder to spot in a crowd without his passenger's blonde hair sticking out above, as that is what I automatically look for. Of course Nathan is growing fast and getting heavier, but Peter isn't ready to admit defeat just yet.

But there is something else about team Hoyt that really touches me, something deeper. And the other night I caught it. It was in the lyrics of 'I can only imagine', the song to which the video I was watching is set. 'Will I dance for you Jesus, or in awe of you be still'...'Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all'.
Both Dick and Rick Hoyt are dancing to Jesus. While singing hallelujah. As yet another song says 'with arms wide and heart abandoned'. They are living their lives in front of God, squeezing every last drop out of it. And it is something to be jealous of. I don't quite manage that. My son does. Nathan lives with his entire body, as much as he is hampered by the cerebral palsy, and with his entire soul. He's in it. Totally in it. And nothing stops him. No wonder he falls asleep like a log at night, he is spent. He has rolled, crawled, fought, challenged, played, explored, learned and rough-and-tumbled his way through the day. I try to learn from him to be in the moment, in the day that God has given me. Somehow I find it hard.