Viability via•bili•ty n.

1. Capable of normal growth and development
2. Capable of become practical and useful
3. Capable of success or continuing effectiveness; practicable

I pulled my things together and headed out the door. Despite being recently jilted by those who attend "Christian-based organizations", I had decided to use this Tuesday night to try again, and perhaps connect with those who truly, passionately seek our God.

I was a bit wary as I approached the steps to the door, despite the shelter it would provide away from the winter's night air. Instantly greeted by three plastic smiles, I had a brochure shoved my way, a brochure with artwork of anonymous "shiny happy people" who were not affiliated with the gathering.

I walked through the wall and shook the cold off and as I did, my eyes met an acquaintance of mine that I have known for some time. It brought me good cheer to see her and I affectionately greeted her. We began to unravel the roads we were upon to one another. As we conversed, I watched as her eyes followed various guys that would pass us. I found her distraction to be distracting and I considered inserting into the conversation that my apartment is currently under siege by a band of roving gnomes, led by a particularly large, yard gnome, who will stop at nothing to obtain my Ramen noodles. I think she would have smiled and nodded politely. Soon thereafter, I found myself sharing my European dreams for this summer and how I would contemplate the viability of living in a place like Scotland or upon the Mediterranean coast. I only got as far as the word "viability." Yep, I was stuck mid-sentence, mid-breath on the word "viability" when a guy walks up to her, she turns 80 degrees to her left, and they begin talking to one another. No acknowledgement is made to my presence and there I was stuck with the word "viability." I waited in queue for a moment and left. There were no artificial it-was-nice-seeing-you's. I just turned and left.

I found a seat on the second row as the band began to warm up. The week before, covers of Hootie and the Blowfish's Time and George Strait's All My Ex's Live In Texas were performed. This week they covered Babyface's When Will I See You Again:

When does my someday begin
When I'll find someone again

As in similar environments, I have a developed host of friends in the crowd, yet I sat in solitude. The music and the message were beneficial. Yet, passive people jumped through hoops on cue. It is the "dutiset" that we feel that must be maintained. A new word I have developed is dutiset: the paradigm with which one feels obliged to obey within the scope of his/her duties.

Of late, I have been examining the concept of relationships versus duties within the scope of the Christian faith. I study the motivation of the action we perform in our faith. Do we do things because it is "the right thing to do" and should be done because of this in that of itself? Rather, should we be doing such tasks because we are motivated to propel the relationship we have with one another toward greater heights ? When the task involves interpersonal relationships, which approach is sincere? I continue to approach areas of my life with this "duties vs. relationship" construct so that I may filter out duty-based agendas and focus on relationship-based initiatives.

The time for our gathering came to a close. My eyes scanned the crowd for a friendly face. I nearly lay this fruitless exercise aside when my gaze fell upon a ray of warmth. Within the cavernous space, a sun shined for my sole contentment.

I headed out into the cold night, my hands jammed into my pockets as the events earlier that evening assaulted my thoughts. The disenchantment of my involvement in "Christian-based organizations" grew and frustration with insincerity and dutisets overwhelmed me. Viability indeed.

I was a bit weary as I approached the steps to the door. Wary before, weary now, I found myself within the comfortable confines of the coffeehouse. Lauren was empathetic to my mind's plight and used a beer mug to dispense coffee for me. Typically, I find myself sitting in a booth or taking a few shots with the cue ball, but that night I sunk down into a leather couch in the smoking room. The ample cigarette smoke was a barrier to the realm of hypocritical muck I had trudged through the previous hour. In the corner a few feet to my left, sat a woman with jet black hair, pastel white skin, and thinly drawn eyebrows who talked with a guy who was superbly dressed with styled hair and crossed his legs at a tight angle. When I noted their conversation, it was focused on clothing and home accessories. They were honest; I can respect that. Huddled across the room at the opposing corner were Christians smoking cigars. They were honest; I can respect that.