Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

I never thought the subtly inscribed words on my rearview window would have theological meaning until a recent class assignment had us plot out our life events. Looking back, those events (and people) that, at the time, seemed random began to weave into a meaningful fabric. The objects in my rearview mirror were closer than they appeared, closer to a overall plan.

So often, I quickly try to make sense of the people, places, and events of my life, to place them in the “good” or the “bad” boxes, and move on. I do this so I don't have to think about things, and, if I’m completely transparent, don't have to feel things. Life is safer when lived as a fast-moving car, keeping our eyes on the road and foot on the pedal. Life remains vibrant and exciting . . . and rather shallow. I now know that there's much more to life than making it through. There’s more connectedness and meaning than is apparent at the moment. Only by looking in the rearview mirror can we see such connections and meanings.

The woman who survives a brutal divorce only to find a career she never knew existed.

The student diagnosed with a learning difference who becomes an innovative educator because of his learning difference.

The child who loses her sight only to become a famous composer.

The laid-off banker who finds previously unknown significance in non-profit work.

The examples abound, each particular, but what they have in common is the miracle of new life often seen in hindsight. Objects in the mirror are, in fact, closer than they appear . . . closer to a story not of our own making. For that, I am growing grateful.