My son Ben played his heart out last weekend. He and his teammates went to our state’s Special Olympics floor hockey tournament and came home with bronze medals.

(Lest you think they are amazing athletes, they won their medals from a group of four teams. Special Olympics forms divisions of four teams each, according to skill level, and they were in level K.)

Ben had been looking forward to “State” for weeks, counting down his sleeps each night, packing and re-packing his duffle every afternoon, asking and asking and asking for reassurance that it was coming. A week ago Saturday the day finally arrived, and we made the long drive south to the big city.

The facility was packed with exuberant athletes, high on life and friendship and the feeling of being part of something big. Loud cheers and referees’ whistles echoed off the brick walls as we made our way to the assigned court, where Ben’s team lost two out of the three games they played.

You wouldn’t guess it, however, from his reaction. “I won!” Ben exulted when they lost the final game. “I won! Two!” cheered my boy, celebrating the two goals they made. And indeed, I saw very few players from any team disappointed at losing. They were just happy to be there, sporting their jerseys, enjoying the experience, dishing out hugs and high fives all around.

I thought about it later on the long drive home, as Ben snored softly in the back seat, the medal still around his neck. His team lost that final game by a score of 6 to 2. And whereas I saw a loss, he saw a win. There were, after all, two goals made, and he focused on those—not the fact that the other team scored more. Later he celebrated his bronze medal with all the gusto he could, never caring that it wasn’t silver or gold. Not disappointed at being in the K division instead of the A.

And I wondered, do I celebrate the twos? Or only focus on my defeats? Am I grateful for the bronze medal around my neck, or disappointed that it isn’t silver or gold?

I’ve come to realize that I miss a lot of joy when I dismiss what is, in scrambling after what isn’t.

Jesus told a parable about a rich man going on a journey, who entrusted varying amounts of money to his three servants to invest for him. He gave different amounts to each one, “each according to his ability”, it says (Matthew 25:14-15).

Ben and his teammates have been entrusted with much smaller amounts of responsibility than we who have the greater ability. Consequently, they can celebrate their two goals with great joy, while we may judge the worth of our investments more critically.

You and I may not be in the K division, but we are still far from playing on the A team. Above us are many more people with more followers, more friends, more money, or more opportunities. We can waste our days bemoaning that fact instead of appreciating what we have been entrusted with.

In the parable, the servant with the smaller amount to invest received the same praise as the servant with more. But there was still one servant left, who hoarded his opportunity instead of using it. He saw his master as hard and calculating, instead of generous. His critical spirit blinded him to the opportunity he’d been given, and as a result, he lost even what little he had.

It is often through the least and the weakest that Jesus teaches the rest of us about his kingdom, and Ben’s joy is no exception. Celebrate the twos, He reminds me, because I do.

Ben and his friends know a secret that it is taking me a lifetime to learn: The winners are not always the ones with the greater score, but those with the greater joy.

The ones who celebrate the twos.

This is the true joy in life, to be used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, to be a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clot of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

George Bernard Shaw