Blurry Telescopes and the Stories We Tell Ourselves

In 1990, the United States launched something bold and brilliant into space — the Hubble Space Telescope, named for astronomer Edwin Hubble. Carried into orbit aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery, it was designed to be our eye in the sky, capturing jaw-dropping images of galaxies, nebulae, and the glittering secrets of the cosmos.

But when Hubble opened that enormous, high-tech eye and began sending back photos, something was… off. The images were blurry — not just a little fuzzy, but disappointingly smeared, as if someone had dragged a cosmic thumbprint across the lens. Cue confusion. Then concern. Then a swarm of NASA engineers huddled around monitors, wondering how billions of dollars had gone sideways.

The verdict? Hubble’s primary mirror had been ground incorrectly by just a few microns — thinner than a strand of hair. Such a tiny flaw, yet enough to throw off the entire view. All that starlight? Hitting the wrong spot. The result: a brilliant telescope looking at the reality of the universe… and seeing it wrong.

And here’s where it gets interesting: we do the same thing.

We don’t simply see the world — we interpret it. We look through mental lenses smudged by memories, past experiences, childhood scripts, awkward first dates, insufficient sleep, and whatever mood your morning coffee didn’t fix. These lenses shape how we see people, situations, and even ourselves. But they aren’t always accurate.

We don’t just see what’s happening. We peer through the story we’re telling ourselves about what’s happening.

Someone zones out during your presentation, and your mind leaps to: They’re bored. I’m bombing. I am never going to get up in front of people again. I should’ve been a barista. But maybe — just maybe — they were up all night with a teething toddler. Our internal stories become the lens through which we see. Overtime, they’re reinforced and shape every response.

Here’s the kicker: most of us don’t even realize we have these stories. We assume we’re seeing “the truth.” But often, we’re staring through a slightly bent inner telescope — a Hubble with a hiccup. It is during these times we need to pause and say, “Hold on — what story am I telling myself right now? Is there another angle I’m missing?”

It’s like becoming your own mission control — running a systems check on your thoughts before launching. Before speaking.  Before acting.

This practice of examining our thoughts before declaring them “truth” is deeply biblical. Scripture calls us to humility in our understanding. Proverbs 3:5 urges, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” Our interpretations can be flawed, like a smeared lens. God’s wisdom can act like Windex. James 1:19 reminds us to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” And Jesus warns in Matthew 7:5, “First take the plank out of your own eye,” before assuming we see others clearly. We’re called to correct our own vision — not just optically, but spiritually.

And just as NASA equipped Hubble with an ingenious set of corrective mirrors — space glasses — we can begin to fine-tune our inner lenses. We’ll never see the world with perfect clarity (we’re gloriously human), but minor adjustments can create powerful shifts in how we relate, respond, and connect.

Once repaired, Hubble went on to capture some of the most breathtaking images humanity has ever seen — glowing star nurseries, elegant spiral galaxies, and the iconic Pillars of Creation. The universe hadn’t changed. Hubble had. With its vision restored, it could finally see clearly.

Maybe the same is true for us.

When we pause, clean the lens, align our thinking with Scripture, and question the stories we’re telling ourselves — maybe, just maybe — we’ll begin to see something just as astonishing in the world around us.