Disappointment Is Only Temporary

I've been thinking a lot about disappointment lately. It seems that things are never as nice as I want them to be. I'm not talking right now about big disappointments, like the recent doctor's appointments that, one after another, reveal that I have more steps left to take, not fewer--that's another story! But I'm thinking now about things that promise to delight me, but fall short.

For example, certain images always draw my interest and make me feel that something magical awaits. Views of old houses with shutters and attic windows, peeling paint and vines running wild, make me think of stories that start in such places, like The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, or The Secret Garden. Interest arises in me, with the sense that if I went into that yard, if I stepped into that house, I would enter a mysterious environment where adventurous and wonderful things would happen. Beautiful scenery can make me feel this way as well: looking up at the night sky when the stars are especially bright, or seeing the way clouds settle on the hills south of my home, just capping their tops in mist--Fog on the Barrow-Downs, I think to myself, remembering the chapter in The Fellowship of the Ring. And when I'm driving beside the ocean, catching glimpses of it when my eyes flicker from the road, my chest swells with momentary excitement that something amazing lies out there in the deeps.

Yet my experience of daily life counters these promises of excitement and delight. When I stare at the sky or the ocean or distant hills, no fascinating adventure comes my way. When, from outdoors, I see light behind windows at night and the sight enchants me with promises of coziness, I walk into my home and find that it feels like life as usual.

I have in mind two answers for this disappointment. One is that I can learn to appreciate things more, to slow my mind down and adjust my expectations so that I can find delight in the ordinary. But I think another answer can combine with this one and offer even more hope.

I think my perception of wonderful things just over the edge of the horizon isn't just a fantasy, a relic from the days when I read children's fantasy stories while believing that such imaginary events could really happen (How I longed to find a wardrobe door that would really lead to Narnia! I even had a house picked out in my neighborhood that I thought might hold the entrance). I think disappointment comes because I've seen glimpses--shadows--of things that will one day be fulfilled.

When Jesus returns and re-makes the world, the beauty and joy and wonder that can show themselves to us now in flashes, for fleeting moments, will fully manifest. As St. Paul said, "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Corinthians 2:9). In his essay "On Fairy-Stories," J. R. R. Tolkien spoke of "Joy beyond the walls of the world," the joy that would someday come when the fallen world is fallen no more. 

So, when I find myself believing that things might be wonderful and amazing, I don't have to feel crushed when I remember that they aren't. I can take courage, because one day, the ideal version of the world that existed before the Fall will exist once again, and disappointment will have died forever.