What do you do when you have thoughts you can't express and emotions you can't handle just now? Why, you go to a Switchfoot concert, of course.
You know, the kind of show that is loud - really good and loud - like, you get to sit right beside the speakers and feel the bass drum pound in your chest and the buzz of the electric guitar drowns out the sound of the people singing along, including yourself, so you can sing and yell as loud as you want and feel swallowed up in the life of the music.
Because it takes on life and sweeps you away - it warmly throbs in your head and it rushes over the audience in forms of dancing, swaying, and waving.
The lead singer walks through the aisles among the fans and sticks the microphone in the faces of passionate sing-alongers, to invite them into the life of the music with him.
And you hope he doesn't come your way because you don't want to be spotlighted, but you do want to be known - desperately want to be known within this mass of bodies by someone in some small way.
And the guitarist on your side of the stage looks up and makes eye contact with you, and then holds your gaze long enough to tilt his head, nod, and give you a small smile - not the flashy, flirty, cocky smile of rock stars, but the smile of someone who just read your eyes, knew where you were at, and dedicated this song to you.
So since you're on the edge of tears you go ahead and rock out as hard as you possibly can and shout out the lyrics of hope and life that this band is known for.
Because even though you don't feel full of hope and life, the lyrics remind you of the truth, and you have to proclaim it no matter what.
Here's to you, Switchfoot. Thanks for a good escape tonight.
