One day there will be nothing but beauty to behold.

And when that thought crossed my mind, I panicked. What will my purpose be in those days if I no longer have pain to inform my creativity?

How startling to find that I had attached so much significance to the necessity of pain in the process of creating art.

And yes, of course we need the songs of lamentation, the poems of heartbreak, the paintings of grief. We need to consume them and to create them. Pain is so often our reality, and there is comfort in the art that says ‘I have been there too’.

But when that’s all gone? What then?

Will I be content to write only about beauty? To sing songs only of gratitude? To let my soul overflow only with joy?

I hope so.

But I know I’ll only be ready if I practise it now. So I’m learning to see beauty as it leaks through the cracks of this broken life. To marvel at the colours in a sunset, and at the light lingering in a smile, at insect song in the evening, the rustling melody of turning pages, starry skies, and steam rising from freshly brewed tea.

Then, when God comes in all His goodness and perfection, restoring everything to its intended beauty, I’ll feel at home, because it will be what I was looking for all along.