The World to Come
At mass, the congregation sits once we
have professed the Nicene Creed. My fingers shake
as our words of faith revolve within my mind.
I look forward to the resurrection of
the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.
I nod, the world to come. What will the world
to come look like? How will I look? They say,
when Jesus comes again, he will renew
the earth and all creation in it. He
will make it perfect. But, what does
……………..perfection look like?
What will my perfect look like? At what age
will God rebuild my body? Seventeen?
Or maybe thirty-five? Maybe I’ll be ten,
before my schooling left bruise-like bags
under my eyes. Though, maybe it was four,
before I chipped my front tooth on that
slide’s top metal platform. Or, maybe I’ll
be eighteen, during those ‘Best of Times,’
when my smile faded to tears when my friends
had study sessions, went to DQ, and
exchanged Secret Santa gifts, without
me. But what of all my scars—the curve on my right
index finger from a shearing accident,
the spiral-bound notebook slash running up
my thigh, and the stabs and gashes in my heart?
How, Lord, can You slide out the knife and keep
my aching memories from bleeding me
out? I should trust my Potter’s Hand—which crafted
a brown slit in my greenish-blue fair eyes,
and my cute button nose and rounded cheeks.
If Your design is so Good now, then I
can only imagine Your plan for when
the Consummated Kingdom comes. Although,
if trust is like a wobbly wheelbarrow
on a tightrope above the Niagara,
then, I’m not sure I’ll ever scramble in
and let You push me across the Falls. But,
Your plans are Your plans. And, one day, Jesus,
You will descend again and dwell among
Your people in Your shining gold Temple.
.
Victoria Martin is a senior studying for a Creative Writing BFA. She worked for The Evansville Review as an Assistant Editor for three semesters. Currently, she is a Managing Editor of the Newman Newsletter for UE Newman Club members and alumni. She is also a co-op intern at Argonne National Laboratory in Lemont, IL.
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