The windshield on my car is five feet by three feet in dimension. I know this because I just measured it. The rearview mirror inside is 9 inches by 2 inches. There’s a reason the windshield is about 100 times larger than the mirror: cars are designed to be driven forward. Drivers benefit from having an optimal view of where they’re headed.
It strikes me that a lot of people spend their days trying to steer their way through life by fixating on the rearview mirror. What’s behind them in their own life’s experience guides their navigational instincts. Instead of believing that God or anybody else might be beckoning them toward a new future, they’re more focused on recovering the past. The orientation map they rely on keeps directing them backward rather than forward, which turns out to be a pretty difficult way to drive.
Rick and Meredith have grown apart in their marriage ever since their 26-year-old daughter died from complications of sepsis six years ago. I touch base with them about once a year, only to discover that nothing has changed about their situation. Meredith is pleasant, happy, and fulfilled. Years ago, a grief therapist helped her realize that, though she thinks of Katie on a daily basis, there’s no better way to honor her daughter than to steer life purposely toward the newness in front of her.
