Just last night I took Sammy outside for some fresh air and experienced something magical without pursuing it. (As is often the case with magic.)

There’s this awful looking shrub in the lower corner of my yard that I’ve been wanting to get rid of forever. To say it looks haggard would be kind. It looks like a shrub from the scary haunted forests found in Disney movies.

It exhibits the strangest combination of old gray wrinkles and new blossoms of springtime, with the former clearly outweighing the latter. I soon found myself breaking off the small, fragile, and hideous branches that were dead– first with one hand then as I was drawn into the mystery of this tree and its fading, flaking bark, the other hand too began to take part in the exploration.

It occurred to me as I studied and reveled in its oddly intriguing beauty that my experience of this little tree was far more engaging and impactful when I committed both hands to the endeavor. This ugly little tree somehow became better and richer with both hands.

Come to think of it, isn’t that the case with all things in life? Everything’s better with both hands. It seems that whatever my two hands hold somehow takes hold of all of me in return.

Carefully holding a newborn baby to my chest.

Digging in the dirt as I weed my garden.

Warmly hugging a friend who’s hurting.

Cupping my hands together to catch raindrops and snowflakes as they fall.

Intentionally holding the steering wheel as I drive down a winding road.

Softly embracing the face of the one I love before a kiss.

Life’s better with two hands. Life’s better with all of me and that’s what my two hands bring to the table, often without my knowledge and without my consent.

Oh that I would more readily embrace the things and people in my life that require two hands instead of disdaining the additional effort that is required of them! If only I could consider the effort less and the gift of total presence more. How much richer would my life be?