Imagining the New Creation as a Coping Mechanism
helping our hearts deal with change, grief, and unmet desire
In college (eight years ago) during Contemporary Lit class, I sat next to a boy who caught my eye. He wrote poetry (of course).
He was very much into this sweet southern tennis player who was, by all accounts, perfection, so I knew things weren’t going anywhere, but class after class I would make small talk with him, listen to his poetry drafts, and nod vigorously at his insightful analysis of Magnolia. There was one time, during class, he talked about crafting a poem where he couldn’t force the words to be something they are not, in both meaning and form. The chess of poetry is that you had to find just the right word for the right space. That stuck with me.
He made me glad to be an English major and we shared a language of ideas. It felt innocent and wholesome to grow a connection with him, even if it was one-sided, for the sake of helping each other see behind the Veil a little more. A risk of creative intimacy, but one that I often take.
As the class wrapped and our senior year crept closer to an end, a growing tug of sadness flooded my sense of connection. There were a few thoughts that helped me de-tangle the sensitive emotional tentacles that wrapped themselves around those cold chairs and too-brightly-lit classroom.
I learned, through my poet-friend, that beauty cannot be possessed, it can only be appreciated as gift. I thank God for the image bearers who come alongside us for a merge on the journey, leave us with a fresh insight into God and the world, and then part ways with a nod, a hug, a twinkle in the eye and a knowing that in small or large ways our lives have been better for the shared travels.
I also learned, through my poet-friend, that in the wake of change, transition, saying goodbye unexpectedly, or recovering from the feeling of being cut short in friendship, love, and life — the end is not the end. Not only is it not the end, it is an invitation to grow our imagination for a future together.
I imagine that one day, when time is no longer pushing us toward the earth, in the heavenly City, I’m creating art alongside my classmate and friend. We’re discovering new creative aspects of God and the world. We’re stringing together words, colors, and images that bless and praise God. We’re no longer constrained by the limits of sin and its effects. We’re making good things for God in neighboring treehouses by an ocean somewhere – seeing each other rightly.
The bittersweetness is only for now. Homesickness is the way home.
The other day I refreshed my email inbox and saw the name of this classmate pop-up. His poetry was being featured in a Christian lit online magazine, and the announcement of his first published poetry book followed that news. I did a surprising double-take. Was he still writing poetry after 8 years? He was! My heart kind of exploded in a type of admiration and pride - a desire that wants his Good — “Well done, friend! Looking forward to us being treehouse neighbors one day in the New Creation.”
And so it is with you, too.
And so it is with dear friends who told me they’re moving across the country, or out of the country, or moving on to a new stage of life.
Can we call this type of thinking a coping mechanism?
Or is it learning to see rightly?
How do you witness beauty without the desire to always possess it?