Still Beautifully Letdown...

I first heard Switchfoot's album The Beautiful Letdown in 2003 (my sister gave me the cd for Christmas).  I didn't know much about the band at the time, but I was diggin' their style right away.  The album appealed to me in terms of its musicianship, but more than just the hip, engaging rock riffs, I found myself indentifying keenly with Jon Foreman's lyrics.  The album contains a slew of noteworthy tracks (Meant to Live, Dare You to Move, Gone, Twenty-Four), but the tune that grabbed me right off (and has since become one of my all time favorite rock songs) is the title track.  Upon first listen, it seemed to express my deepest feelings about faith as seen through the lens of my particular worldview.  The thing about Foreman's lyrics is, he taps wonderfully into the duality of the Christian faith.  I can't speak for everyone, but as a believer I find Christianity simultaneously hard to accept on the one hand and unspeakably beautiful on the other.  What Foreman seems to be saying in his song is that when we first come to faith we must face the reality that this world isn't designed to bring us happiness.  We can never find our true selves if we are looking only at what we can understand physically.  His recurring phrase, "I don't belong here," is a telling one.  God has in mind for us so much more than the world alone can offer.  Still, it's a disappointing thing to realize that we aren't sufficient in ourselves, that contentment can never be found in life despite the many false promises that are constantly whispered in our ears.  It's a letdown to find that happiness on our own terms will never come to be.  Of course, Foreman taps into the brighter side of faith as well.  God doesn't reveal His higher truth for the sole purpose of showing us how insufficient our reality is.  He doesn't create a longing or desire in us that He is not willing to satisfy.  But God's terms are such that we must leave behind that which cannot fulfill us in search of that which brings hope and the promise of peace.  Over time my life has reflected, and still does, the truth of Foreman's words.  It hasn't always been easy for me to admit that I need God.  When life is going smoothly, it almost seems harsh that God insists that I stop living on my own terms.  But the thing is, whatever is good in this world is but a fragmented reflection of what is truly good, and all of that comes from God's eternal reality.  We may find moments of peace, times of acceptance, real successes and joys from time to time as we trod through this life, but the deeper, more resonate truth is that this is not our home.  Accepting that as truth comes with a price, but the freedom to be found in God's arms as we turn our gaze from this world and onto Him is priceless.  I'm still 'letdown' when I face difficulties and life runs me down, when I try to make sense of circumstances that leave me with a bitter "why" on my lips.  I want things to be easier.  I want to succeed.  I want life to make more sense.  Thing is, you can't expect to find the answers where they do not exist.  We want this world to satisfy us, desperately at times.  We don't see that God has specifically made us to be letdown, that we may look up to see (and dare to desire) that which is far more beautiful.

I recently started to learn the guitar.  Turns out it's a lot harder than I thought (and I already figured it'd be mighty tough).  The process is slow going thus far.  I've been hammering out some chords.  Trying to get some strumming patterns down too.  The trickiest thing at first seems to be finger placement when jumping between chords.  The whole experience of learning a new instrument is one that speaks to one of life's most humbling truths: we ain't born with much - so we've gotta learn.  As a musician, I'm a trumpet player first and foremost.  My interest in the guitar sort of grew out of wanting to teach myself more theory and to broaden my skills as a musician.  I honestly can't remember if learning the trumpet was so tough at first.  I mean, I'm not exactly a world-class horn player, but I've come a long way just working through method books and listening to my influences - most recently, Chris Botti, but a bunch of guys, really -- Dizzy, Miles Davis, Freddie Hubbard, Clifford Brown, Don Ellis.  It's hard to see how I got from point A to point S (I won't claim to have reached point Z just yet, or for a long time to come for that matter).  But I probably learned all I did very subtly, a small piece at a time, over a long period of time.  So, as I was saying, it's the "learning" component of life that humbles us the most.  It's a difficult thing to admit there's stuff you just don't know, or can't do, or can't even comprehend just yet.  But, really, when you think of it, isn't that the point when we find we're ready to grow?  As vessels designed to hold something valuable, our pride fills us with empty, false notions of what we think it is that makes us "us."  If we deceive ourselves into thinking we have all that we need, or can't bring ourselves to take a hard look at what our limitations are, or even if we're just too closed off to new experiences (because "I won't be able to learn that"...or "I don't want to try and then fail"...or "I'll never be as good as so and so..."), I suspect we miss out on a whole lot in this life.  But don't get me wrong, the point isn't to focus solely on what we lack.  It's to acknowledge our true self: to see that we are not whole or complete as we are now; but that we have buried potential - abilities and strengths that have not been harvested, not yet been refined into something beautiful.  Many of the steps I've taken since college have led me down paths that intimidated me at first, that called me out for not knowing enough, not being skilled enough.  But, you know what?  For the most part, I've pressed on anyway.  I've learned to take it for granted that I've got a long way to go.  I'm not done learning -- not by a long shot.  The guitar is just one of those signposts in the road that reinforce the point.  This process of life learning is not a divine lesson intended to put us down.  It's meant to grant us the proper perspective.  Learning is simultaneously challenging and satisfying.  Each step we take that solidifies what we've acheived unfolds new territory for us to explore.  But the thing is, as our successes reveal new challenges to come, nothing can take from us the growth and progress we've attained.  And the thrill of that kind of acheivement is precious, indeed.