He Still Calls Me By Name

It’s Sunday again. I woke up this morning and didn’t want to go to church.

It was raining.

I was tired — soul-tired.

The kind of tired that tells you to stay under the covers and stream the service from your phone, with coffee in one hand and your faith held loosely in the other.

And honestly? I could’ve.  No one would’ve blamed me.  I even told myself, “It’s still church if you watch it online.”

But deep down, I knew. 

While I didn’t feel like going… I knew I needed to.

Not just for the sermon. Not just to check a box or keep a streak alive.

I needed to be in the room.

With other people trying, like me, to show up with whatever faith they’ve got left.

This wasn’t about convenience. It was about presence.

Not just hearing about God but choosing to be with Him — in His house, with His people.

Not just getting the message, but letting the space, the sounds, the stillness, and the Spirit speak to the parts of me I tend to silence.

So I went.

And during worship, these lyrics reached right into my chest:

“Though I am a runaway
He still calls me home by name
I’ll be singing with the saints
I will praise, praise the Lord.”

I felt tears rise before I even had the chance to argue with them.

Because that’s me.

The runaway. The wanderer. The one who keeps coming back, still unsure some days if I belong.

And yet—He calls me home.

By name.

Not by shame.
Not by guilt.
Not by “should.”
But by name.

And I don’t know what you’ve been running from—or to—but I know what it feels like to be called home in the middle of a song you weren’t expecting to undo you.

Then the sermon began, and wouldn’t you know…
The topic?

Self-control.

Not punishment. Not rigidity. But a Spirit-filled kind of steadiness.  

The kind that says, “You don’t have to be ruled by your feelings today.”

The kind that gets out of bed when it would rather stay hidden.

The kind that doesn’t wait to want to go, but just goes.

The kind that returns, again and again, not for applause or perfection, but for peace.

Self-control isn’t always flashy.

Sometimes it’s just quietly choosing what you know you need—even when everything in you is craving ease or escape.

Sometimes it looks like brushing your teeth, putting on your shoes, and walking into a building where you’re reminded that you’re not alone.

That God is still calling you by name.

And those saints you’re singing with?  They’re all runaways too.

Still returning.
Still learning.
Still being called home.