Sometimes we resist one invitation while nearly forgetting another, yet God can use an ordinary Sunday to awaken our faith, our gratitude, and even a piece of who we used to be.
There was a church along Route 15 that I had wanted to visit for some time. I had passed it, thought about it, and told myself that one Sunday I would finally go. Yet I kept putting it off.
It was not that I had anything against the church. Sometimes the familiar is simply easier. Walking into a new place alone requires a small act of courage, even when the place is filled with people who have gathered to worship the same God.
This Sunday, I finally went.
I got dressed in a white linen shirt, gray pants, a gray belt, and gray shoes. It was nothing extraordinary, but I wanted to look like I had made an effort. Maybe that was part of preparing myself—not only to attend a service, but to be present for whatever God might have for me there.
Lately, I have also been thinking about something as simple as my name. At work and when meeting people, I have gotten into the habit of introducing myself as Rich. There is nothing wrong with Rich, but Richie is who I am. It is the name that feels like me. Perhaps returning to ourselves sometimes begins with something that small: saying our own name without shortening or reshaping it for everyone else.
The service began at 9:15 and lasted until about 10:30. The worship was contemporary, the room was alive, and the message was about enthusiasm—but not merely the natural excitement some people seem to possess from birth. It was about spiritual enthusiasm: living with energy and purpose because of what Christ has done for us.
The pastor spoke about forgiveness. When we accept what Jesus did by dying on the cross for our sins, we are forgiven. But the message went further than forgiveness. Through Christ, we are also freed from the bondage of sin.
That thought stayed with me.
Freedom from sin does not mean temptation never returns. It does not mean that every struggle disappears the moment we believe. I still have struggles I do not want controlling me. My words do not always reflect the man I want to be. There are things I have looked at that I do not want to have power over me. Those battles are real.
But a battle is different from bondage.
Because of Christ, sin may still call to us, but it no longer owns us. We do not have to accept every temptation as part of our identity. We do not have to say, “This is simply who I am, and I will never change.” We can bring what remains hidden into the light, get back up when we fall, and continue walking toward the person God created us to be.
Maybe that is spiritual enthusiasm—not pretending that life is perfect, but living as if Christ’s victory is actually true.
Somewhere in the middle of the service, another thought suddenly struck me.
I had a baseball game to attend.
Not just any game, either. Someone had given me an amazing box seat for the Washington Nationals and the Los Angeles Angels. It would likely include an air-conditioned suite, food, drinks, and a view most fans never get to experience. Somehow, in the middle of getting ready for church and taking in a new place, I had nearly forgotten all about it.
I had to laugh at myself. How do you forget something like that?
Then I thought about the team visiting Washington that afternoon: the Angels.
When I was younger, I followed the Angels. I also played for the Corona National Little League Angels. Long before work responsibilities, retirement plans, airline status, hotel rooms, and all the other concerns that fill an adult life, I was a boy wearing an Angels uniform and stepping onto a baseball field.
Suddenly, this ordinary Sunday held several versions of my life at once.
There was the boy who once played for the Angels. There was the man who had delayed walking into an unfamiliar church. There was the Christian being reminded that he was not created to live imprisoned by old sins. And there was the grateful baseball fan who had almost forgotten that an unexpected gift was waiting for him that afternoon.
None of this means that every forgotten appointment or sudden memory is a supernatural sign. Sometimes remembering is simply remembering. But I also believe God can use ordinary moments. He can meet us in a church we have driven past, in a message we did not know we needed, and even in a baseball game that reconnects us with a younger version of ourselves.
Perhaps the lesson was not that I needed to understand every detail of the day. Perhaps I simply needed to show up.
I had resisted one invitation and nearly forgotten another. Yet when I finally walked through the first door, I was reminded of the second.
That is often how life works. We wait until we feel completely ready, certain, or comfortable. Meanwhile, something meaningful may already be waiting on the other side of one small decision: attend the church, accept the invitation, introduce yourself, say your real name, or take the next faithful step.
This Sunday, I finally went.
I found a message about living with spiritual enthusiasm. I was reminded that forgiveness is not the end of the story and that, in Christ, bondage does not have the final word. I remembered a gift I had nearly allowed to pass me by. And I felt a connection to the boy I once was—the young Richie who wore an Angels uniform and had no idea where life would eventually take him.
Sometimes what is waiting for us is not an answer to every question. Sometimes it is simply a reminder: God is still working, life is still offering unexpected gifts, and the person we were created to be is not beyond recovery.
I had spent too long avoiding one invitation and nearly forgotten another.
Yet both were still waiting when I finally went.
Seasons and Horizons 
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