looking through me

I glanced at my driver’s side mirror as I backed into the driveway, and I slammed on the brakes. Instead of seeing what was to the left rear of me, I saw the top of the side of my car and the sky—not helpful for driving in reverse!

As I reset the mirror to the correct angle, I wondered how long it had been misaligned. Did I drive sixty miles today with my mirror askew? I would have noticed . . . right?

I’d like to think so. I’d like to think I catch when things are off kilter, but often I don’t.

I can drive too long with a wonky mirror. And a side mirror might not be a big deal—I didn’t hit anyone or anything—but what else is out of alignment? How’s my attitude? How’s the tone of my voice? How’s my compassion? My patience? My joy? Have I been walking around all day with fear knocking my perspective out of whack?

A quick glance when I change directions isn’t enough—I don’t have a side mirror for my soul.