For me, no one wrote more sensitively of the One returning to the many than C.S. Lewis. In one of his essays Lewis imagines that when we die and finally see God, we will not say:
Lord, I could never have guessed how beautiful you are.
We will not say that. Rather, we will say,
So it was you all along.
Everyone I ever loved, it was you.
Everyone who ever loved me, it was you.
Everything decent or fine that ever happened to me,
everything that made me reach out and try to be better,
it was you all along.