As soon as I click “Publish” on this post, I will have already equaled at the beginning of 2023 the number of Beloved Walks entries I made in all of 2022. I sure didn’t plan to write so little here last year, but I allowed a super-busy schedule to infringe on this blog. Lord willing, I will do better this year.
I am living a blessed life, full of so many answered prayers. JC and I are married now and recently moved into our first home together. We spent much of last year in the construction process – which proved to be both time-consuming and stressful. Needless to say, we chose our home for the land and not for the builder. She is ours now, though, and we are grateful for her.
In the midst of what otherwise would have been the happy occasion of taking ownership of our home, though, a beloved family pet passed away – tears of sadness instead of happiness. I found myself asking, “Why today, Lord?”
We also encountered Murphy’s Law (“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”) in full force on just about every aspect of the move and settling in. I must admit, there were times where I was angry at God for allowing yet another mishap beyond our control but obviously within His.
But you know what, I had to keep truing back to something (certain times I was more successful at this than others). Yes, things were going wrong. Sometimes, horribly so. But I was finally living with my beloved bride and stepkids. How many thousands of times had I prayed for these moments? How dare I allow any earthly problem to overshadow those spiritual blessings.
Just living in the same home as my stepson, for instance, has allowed us to get closer than when I was a frequent visitor. He and I have worked on a number of projects around the house together. He’s learning to trust me – that I won’t bite his head off or belittle him when something goes wrong. We make any mistakes together and learn from them.
The truth is, I’m not exactly handy. I am more of a technologically-inclined person than a mechanically-inclined one. And even my technology instincts have started to wither as I become older. But, with God’s help, as well as a little Googling, I am able to figure out enough to get by. A home improvement task that should take an hour often takes me four, but I do eventually get there – most of the time, anyway.
I have never been a father before, and I now have three wonderful kids! I love them, and I thank God for them.
Each morning when I wake up, no matter what is ahead on that day, I like to gaze at my beloved bride next to me. How blessed I am. How blessed. No day that begins with her at my side can be all-bad!
So, I won’t let Murphy get me down. Instead, I will focus on Jesus. I am grateful to Him for His blessings of today and, Lord willing, the promises of tomorrow.
Thank you for reading. May Jesus bless you throughout 2023.
“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease.” Lamentations 3:20-22 NLT
Tomorrow, I will return to the office where I work for the first time since March 20, 2020. When I left my desk that day, I thought about how weird it would be not to return for a few weeks or maybe even months. Now, almost two years later, it feels weird to return at all. I have gotten used to working in lock-down mode. As an introvert, I prefer it, and, in some ways, I am actually more effective than I am in person. The world wants its “normal” back, though. Who am I to argue with the world?
Jesus blessed me many times over during those two years, and that is where I want to keep my focus. In addition to staying free of the virus, there are wonderful things happening in my life now that would have only seemed like distant dreams in March 2020 – things that I prayed would happen “someday.”
Someday, I will be married to my beloved JC, who is the love of my life.
Someday, I will be forming relationships with my stepchildren, who I love no less than if they were my very own.
Someday, my beloved bride and I will be building a home together.
There are more blessings than I could possibly list here. Every single one of them came from Jesus. Before I accepted Jesus in 2018, my life was empty. He has been re-molding me back into who He created me to be. This clay still struggles sometimes, but the Potter continues to shape it.
I thank God for Jesus and for my beloved.
Yes, I will be back in the office tomorrow – but He will be right there with me. Like He always has been.
Thank you for reading. May Jesus bless you as He has blessed me.
“And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from His glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus. Now all glory to God our Father forever and ever! Amen.” Philippians 4:19-20 NLT
JC lives near me, and one of the ways I enjoy serving her is fueling her car with gas when I can. To facilitate her excursions this weekend, I wake up early on Saturday and brave the cold to fill her car as a surprise.
For the longest time, I wouldn’t drive anyone else’s car due to my anxiety. However, JC’s car and I get along just fine. Speaking of anxiety-inducing situations, her car prefers gas from a perpetually-crowded filling station/convenience store near us that we’ll call “Lala.” One of the reasons I like to fill up her car prior to 6:30 AM is Lala’s multiple pumps almost always have lines if you go much later than that.
There are also these signs at each pump proclaiming, “Please free this position when finished fueling. Thank you. –The Customer Behind You.” Lala is a high pressure environment for someone with anxiety! I am the same way with self-checkout at grocery stores. I won’t do self-checkout if there is a line to get to them. (Actually, I wouldn’t do self-checkout at all if stores would stop relying on them and fully staff their cash registers with actual human beings.)
Anyway, Lala is starting to get busy, but I get there early enough where I find a free pump. I check the little arrow on the gas gauge to remind me that her car’s gas hatch is on the driver side rather than the passenger side like mine. I pull in, maybe a bit far from the pump, but not too bad, and otherwise line it up as best I can. I turn off the car, put the keys in my coat pocket, and get out to fuel.
Whew, is it cold! Sometimes, Lala’s pumps are persnickety with credit/debit cards, but it accepts mine just fine this time. I open the gas hatch, insert the nozzle from the pump, and begin fueling. It only needs about half a tank, so it doesn’t take long before the pump automatically shuts off. I give it one more squeeze to make sure and put it back on the pump. I shut the gas hatch. On the pump screen, I decline to take a receipt. I then wait to ensure the transaction fully clears out.
I pull out the car key from my pants pocket and climb back in the vehicle. I shut and lock the doors. I look in the rear view mirror. No one behind me. Good.
I start to put the key into the ignition. The car’s dashboard lights up, but the key will not fully go in. I pull it back out and try again. Same thing.
I remember JC saying something about the car not always fully going into the correct gear. Maybe it isn’t in Park. However, when inserting the key, the “P” lights up. As far as I can tell, it is in Park.
I then start turning the steering wheel. On my car, I remember my key getting stuck in the ignition when the wheel didn’t lock properly. Maybe something similar is happening in reverse. I freely turn the wheel back and forth.
My heart rate begins increasing.
I look in the rear view mirror again. Still no one there waiting for me to free the position.
I look at the convenience store. Would an attendant come out and yell at me about blocking a pump for too long?
I don’t know what to do, so I call on help.
On my iPhone, I type a description of my situation in the search. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that anything that happens to me in a car, it’s already happened to others and been written about on the web and cataloged on Google.
However, all of the Google search results are about how to get a stuck key out of an ignition. None about how to get a resistant key into an ignition. No help.
I try the key again. No go.
Maybe I have the wrong key. I grabbed my own car keys this morning as well. I look at the key fob and see a scripture key ring I bought a few months ago. Yes, right keys.
I try once again. Car dashboard lights up, but key won’t fully insert.
I don’t dare check the rear view mirror. I imagine having to push the car out of the position so the customer behind me can fuel.
Finally, I decide to call JC. I wake her up and explain the situation. She is thankful for me fueling her car, but she has not encountered this key scenario before. She asks if I am using the right key. “Yes, I already checked that,” I say.
I look at the key again anyway. I see a Chevrolet emblem on the back of the fob. It is my car’s key. Not the key for JC’s Ford. I reach in my coat pocket and pull out JC’s key, which has a different scripture key ring, and start the car. As I drive away from Lala, freeing the position for the (possibly non-existent) customer behind me, I sheepishly apologize to JC for waking her up.
Why am I telling you this story? To illustrate a couple of my mistakes.
The Second Commandment tell us:
“You must not make for yourself an idol of any kind or an image of anything in the heavens or on the earth or in the sea. You must not bow down to them or worship them, for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God who will not tolerate your affection for any other gods. I lay the sins of the parents upon their children; the entire family is affected—even children in the third and fourth generations of those who reject me. But I lavish unfailing love for a thousand generations on those who love me and obey my commands.” Exodus 20:4-6
I thought this was one of the “easy” commandments. Obviously, I only worship the Lord. Only fools worship idols.
Yet, where did I first turn when I needed help? Not to God. But to Google. As with all false idols, Google provided no real answers.
Despite my shortcomings, God still tried to help me. That scripture on my key ring? It is the verse that JC used in 2018 to help me significantly lessen my anxiety, including while driving:
“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10
When JC gave me her spare car keys, the verse key ring I chose for them was Romans 8:28, a mantra for us both.
I saw a scripture key ring attached to the fob that wouldn’t work and assumed it was the correct one. Oh, if only I had a taken a second actually to read the verse! It would have 1) calmed me and 2) made me realize they were the keys to my car and not JC’s car.
God was trying to talk to me and help me, but I was not listening. This time, I realized it later. I wonder how often it happens and I remain oblivious to it?
I ponder, why didn’t I turn to God when the car wouldn’t start? God had even helped me in almost that exact situation before! Back in 2019, my car was having a mechanical issue. At another gas station, I fueled up my car but couldn’t get the engine to start. That time, I was smart enough to pray to God for help. Immediately, an attendant named Al came out. He recognized the sound my engine was making when failing to start and patiently told me the exact steps to start the car. The car started right up. God is much better than Google. JC and I still pray for Al whenever we pass that gas station.
So, why did I go to Google first this time and not God? I honestly don’t know. Not as an excuse, but I have been struggling at work lately, particularly last week. I was still off kilter going into this weekend. I am doing better now, and I want to thank JC, Mark, and others for their prayers.
So, again I don’t have the answer, other than, I obviously need to pray more about my relationship with God. And stop breaking commandments!
Thank you for reading, friends. May Jesus bless you.
I continue to struggle. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I still can’t focus, especially at work. It all seems meaningless. I want to be doing other things, things that actually matter, or I want simply to be relaxing. When I am whining to her about my job, JC often reminds me that I actually work for Jesus and refers me to verses like:
“Work with enthusiasm, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.” Ephesians 6:7
Paul was referring to ancient slavery, but I accept that his words apply to the modern workplace as well. I can’t say I live up to them. This is, perhaps, my biggest failing since I was saved. In fact, my enthusiasm for work declined around the same time I met Jesus. Before that, I would pull 60+ hour weeks because it seemed important.
But it all seems meaningless now. I am supposed to keep in mind that I am working for Jesus, but does Jesus really care which of 8,000 data fields are ported over from one system to another? For that matter, does anyone? I sure don’t. I feel like a cog in a meaningless machine that ultimately produces nothing.
I had to postpone a “critical” meeting at the last minute today because I was not prepared. I was not prepared because I waited until an hour before the meeting to begin my preparations. I am a procrastinator by nature. My biggest failing is that my procrastination usually works out just fine – often more than fine. I shove a ton of effort into minimal time and receive praise for it by people who assume I spent 20 times as much time on it. Today, it caught up with me. The meeting will now take place next week. In between a dozen other meetings for 8 other projects I don’t care about, I will attempt to prepare. I will attempt to pretend I care.
I don’t even have energy to write this post. This is not even a real post. Just mindless writing. The origin of “blog” is “web log” – an online journal. So, I guess you are just getting my raw thoughts today. Dear Diary, I am a worn down Christian. I am lazy. I am ungrateful.
Outside of blogging, to the extent that counts, I actually don’t journal very often anymore. I find it draining in its imperfection. While it is neat to look back on them sometimes, I usually can’t force myself to make the effort. I find it impossible to journal proper details on a consistent schedule, so I don’t bother. I suppose I pray most of my internal whinings to God instead now. I also whine to poor JC, as I mentioned.
I don’t know that any of this really helps, though. At the end of the day, I still have to go back to a job that I really don’t care about. I can put on a positive smile and pretend I am all happy and grateful to be working, but I am really dying inside. Little by little.
There is no answer. All I can do is pretend. It feels all too familiar, though. I used to pretend my way through my first marriage:
“Everything is fine.”
“It is supposed to be like this.”
“It will get better.”
Etc. Etc. Etc.
It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. But it did get better, when we divorced. Once that marriage was out of my life, it was indeed better. Much better.
So, this is perhaps the worst post I have ever published here. Rather than submit any reader that has made it this far any further to these useless ramblings, I will just sign off for now.
I don’t have any answers. All I can do is give all of this to God.
Fortunately, I had locked the door. She was erupting on the other side of it, trying to force herself in to the home office that had become my sanctuary. For years, I had felt trapped. In my marriage. In my job. In my life.
I had known for over five months that my toxic marriage needed to change. I actually wanted it to end, but God had told me not to suggest that, but to take a slower path. I was reluctant, but obeyed.
I had been praying throughout the day of and in the weeks leading up to a difficult conversation about my requested changes. The end result was that my spouse decided to end the marriage anyway.
I was at peace. As she hurled insults and false accusations against me, I answered them calmly. The calmer I was, the angrier and louder she became. The angrier and louder she was, the calmer I became.
I was secure in who I was. I knew what I had done and had not done, and God knew as well. What anyone else thought was really beside the point.
The sheer rage on the other side of the door told me to keep it sealed. While I certainly would not have hit back, a physical confrontation would have done neither of us any good. I had been trapped in my marriage for years. What was a few hours more in my little room?
Less than eight months before, in that very same room, on the verge of suicide, I had accepted Jesus. I was a new person now, and I was filled with His peace. Even if my old life was in the hall yelling at me.
I stayed awake that night with the door sealed, even partially barricading it. Just in case. I spent the time praying, informing my loved ones, starting to pack for a now inevitable move, and shutting down my credit cards. I would be my spouse’s debt mule no longer.
Eventually, things settled down. As things do. That was the last real day of my marriage. The remaining eight months were primarily spent on legal transactions to undo the whole mess. As I have mentioned before, I ignored or missed several warning flags when getting married. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I am grateful that Jesus has given me a second chance to experience the life He intends for me.
Yes, I once thought I was trapped. That my fate was sealed. Only through faith did I learn that Jesus was there all along, working behind the seal.
No, I was never truly trapped. For God was always with me.
“The king was deeply troubled, and he tried to think of a way to save Daniel. He spent the rest of the day looking for a way to get Daniel out of this predicament. In the evening the men went together to the king and said, ‘Your Majesty, you know that according to the law of the Medes and the Persians, no law that the king signs can be changed.’ So at last the king gave orders for Daniel to be arrested and thrown into the den of lions. The king said to him, ‘May your God, whom you serve so faithfully, rescue you.’
“Very early the next morning, the king got up and hurried out to the lions’ den. When he got there, he called out in anguish, ‘Daniel, servant of the living God! Was your God, whom you serve so faithfully, able to rescue you from the lions?’ Daniel answered, ‘Long live the king! My God sent his angel to shut the lions’ mouths so that they would not hurt me, for I have been found innocent in his sight. And I have not wronged you, Your Majesty.’ The king was overjoyed and ordered that Daniel be lifted from the den. Not a scratch was found on him, for he had trusted in his God.” Daniel 6:14-16,19-23
David is one of the most interesting figures of the Bible, and JC and I could (and, Lord willing, will) explore him in dozens of posts over the years. Today, I just want to take a brief look at an interesting parallel in the kingships of Saul and David.
In 1 Samuel 18, King Saul, out of jealousy, decides he wants David, his greatest and most loyal soldier, dead. The below verse describes one of the ways he tries to arrange this:
“One day Saul said to David, ‘I am ready to give you my older daughter, Merab, as your wife. But first you must prove yourself to be a real warrior by fighting the LORD’s battles.’ For Saul thought, ‘I’ll send him out against the Philistines and let them kill him rather than doing it myself.'” 1 Samuel 18:17
After initially declining the offer, David eventually agrees instead to marry King Saul’s younger daughter, Michal. King Saul decrees that David must kill 100 Philistines to earn her hand. The ploy fails, for David returns, having killed 200 Philistines (as described in 1 Samuel 18:18-27). King Saul’s behavior towards David becomes increasingly erratic until he is obsessed with pursuing and killing him.
David, for his part, still considers King Saul anointed by God. In the midst of being hunted, David twice has the opportunity to kill King Saul, yet chooses not to do so (as described in 1 Samuel 24:3-7 and 1 Samuel 26:7-9). These are remarkable acts of restraint.
David even kills the man who claims to have killed King Saul when bringing news of his death in a battle against, you guessed it, the very same Philistines that he hoped would kill David (as described in 2 Samuel 1:6-16).
David becomes king, but many years later, he stumbles. He commits adultery with Bathsheba, who becomes pregnant. When he is unable to make it look as if the forthcoming child is of her husband, Uriah, King David then decides Uriah, a loyal solider, must die.
“So the next morning David wrote a letter to Joab and gave it to Uriah to deliver. The letter instructed Joab, ‘Station Uriah on the front lines where the battle is fiercest. Then pull back so that he will be killed.’ So Joab assigned Uriah to a spot close to the city wall where he knew the enemy’s strongest men were fighting.” 2 Samuel 11:14-16
King David has essentially ordered the same fate for Uriah as King Saul once planned against him. Except this time, because David’s version is more insidious than that of Saul, the plan succeeds, and Uriah indeed falls. King David has now added murder to adultery in his list of sins. I am leaving out a lot here, but things soon begin to fall apart for him. He takes Bathsheba as his wife, repents and asks forgiveness from God, and their baby dies.
King David and Bathsheba have another child, Solomon, who goes on not only to succeed him as king, but to be in the bloodline of Joseph (see Matthew 1:6-16), adopted father of Jesus – fulfilling prophecy of the Messiah being from the line of David (Ezekiel 37:24).
What to make of all this?
One of the misconceptions I had about the Bible before I was saved was that most of the people in it were perfect and led exemplary lives. Of course, this myth was shattered early on in my journey. In the Bible, there is only one perfect human, Jesus Christ. The rest are flawed, like us.
The Lord considered David a “man after his own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14), yet even David went on to break multiple of His commandments. Those of us who follow Jesus also aspire to be after His own heart. We want to be Christlike, but we all sin.
Every day we make mistakes, yet every day God still loves us and still uses us to fulfill His plan and His glory. This is not because we are deserving, but because of His grace and because of His Son, who died for our sins such that we be made right with God.
“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.” Romans 8:28
One last thing before I go. I want to point you over to a beautiful post by JC over on Wounded Butterflies, where she begins telling more of her story as a survivor of abuse. Please read what she has to say: Nobody Knew, Yet Everybody Knew.
Sundays have meant different things to me at different times of my life. As a kid, the day began with Sunday breakfast. Mom, often with help from me and my little sister, would prepare a big meal for our family of six. Some weeks she made pancakes, some weeks she made French toast. I can also remember other weeks just standing at the toaster making a huge plate of toast to go with whatever else we were having. Toast specifically made for my father had to have the little adjustment lever all the way to the far right, resulting in a charred brick no one else would eat.
Bread of some sort was always involved in Mom’s Sunday breakfasts. To complement the main course of starchiness, there would be delicacies like bacon, sausage, eggs, and grits.
Oh yes, grits. To eat grits right requires stirring in at least a teaspoon of sugar to your bowl (we used three teaspoons when I was growing up, but I have scaled back), adding a pat of butter until it starts melting, and then splashing in just a drop or two of milk so it mixes up with the melted butter. Break apart a piece of toast, and add it to the mix if you are ready to take your grits to the next level (optional – for advanced connoisseurs of grits only).
Sunday breakfast would normally hold us until an early dinner, which was often big, too – though the specific courses weren’t as consistent. While Sunday breakfast was always at the big round dinner table, dinner was sometimes allowed in front of the TV in the living room. I can remember watching a movie called Shenandoah, one of my father’s favorites, one Sunday afternoon while eating pork chops and jelly biscuits.
Now, that’s not to say we avoided the occasional nod to healthy eating in our house. For instance, we quite often ate a salad – iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, onions, deli ham and Kraft American cheese cut into little squares – doused in French dressing prior to the main course of a huge plate of angel hair spaghetti covered in Prego sauce with added ground beef. On the side, plenty of warm French or Italian bread on which butter would quickly melt away into nothingness. For drink, you had your choice between a pitcher of sweet iced tea or ice cold Coca-Cola.
Okay, maybe I was stretching it a bit with the “healthy eating” claim. But there was a salad buried somewhere in there. And we did, for a time, substitute Diet Coke for the real thing.
By middle school, I had grown an appreciation for football, so Sunday afternoons during that season consisted of sitting in the living room while my father and brother screamed at the TV in attempts to motivate our team. Their combined yelling apparently catapulted the team to multiple Super Bowl wins, for the team began a perennial losing streak soon after my father left the scene that continues to this day nearly three decades later.
As middle school wore on and then on into high school, Sunday nights became a time of anxiety for me. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t do any of my homework (though often true), it was the knowledge that I had to face another full week at that place – dealing with people, not being myself, and other assorted problems.
My first job was at an amusement park, so Sunday then became a key working day for me as I entered adulthood. No more big breakfasts or football games. This lasted a couple of years before I moved on to more typical Monday through Friday work – though, admittedly, never quite as fun as the park.
Sunday night anxiety became a fixture, except the dread of the forthcoming school week was soon replaced with the dread of the forthcoming work week. During my marriage, I went through a long period of time where my inner dialogue often consisted of statements like, “I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead.” Sunday nights into Monday mornings were the peak for these kinds of thoughts. By Monday mornings, my stomach was ripped to pieces. But this post is about Sundays. Fortunately for you.
Sundays during my marriage consisted of a blaring TV. Actually, so did all of the other days of my marriage, but on Sundays, it would specifically blare either football games or NASCAR races – both of which I had lost interest in by the time I was married, oddly enough. Sometimes I would sit there with my former spouse and endure this audio and video assault. Other times, I would go hide in my office to try to have a moment to just think, knowing full well I would be guilt tripped later for my retreat.
I find it difficult to concentrate when a TV is blaring all the time, and my former spouse required the TV to be on at all times – even while sleeping. My only opportunities for audio peace were those few times she wasn’t home. Anyway, I am getting off track here. We can dissect my marriage some other time.
In general, I saw Sunday as a lesser version of Saturday. Lesser because Saturday morning was full of promise with the entire weekend ahead, while Sunday was an inevitable march into Monday, collapsing hopes that the new week would never come.
In June 2018, JC led me to Jesus and, as evidenced by just about every post I’ve ever made on this blog, my entire life changed. Including, of course, Sundays.
At that time, for various reasons, I began attending my local church through streaming. Combined with the daily quiet time of reading and prayer that JC instilled into me right from the start, I began to learn and absorb so much about Jesus, God, and myself. Over time, Jesus and JC helped me with my anxiety. While I still have my anxious moments from time-to-time, they are nothing like the prison I had built and constantly refined for myself before I knew Jesus.
As my marriage disintegrated, I began attending the church in person. Outside of JC and a couple of her friends, I never did become fully comfortable there, though. While I was learning, the environment never felt quite right. The mostly monochromatic parishioners left me cold, for one thing. Everyone looked like me, which wasn’t what I wanted. And there were other issues.
JC and I did a few times drive about 70 miles to a small church that I absolutely love (another long story). Locally, we began trying to find a more diverse church. This proved a bigger challenge than anticipated.
Then, COVID-19 hit. My Sundays changed again, as did everyone else’s on the planet – no matter their belief system. At first, it felt like I had come full circle. I was streaming the local church again, but that church just wasn’t for me anymore.
Instead, I began to seek out other streaming alternatives to hear the Word. Dr. Tony Evans and Pastor T.D. Jakes have really risen to the challenge of these times, and I have felt so enriched experiencing their web sermons. The little church 70 miles down the road even added video sermons, which allowed me to stay spiritually in touch with them as well.
Whereas Sundays had become about dutifully going to a church for an hour where I never quite belonged, it has evolved in COVID times for me into a day of worship, learning, reflection, and writing. My three most recent Sundays began with reading, prayer, a big breakfast (in honor of Mom, though never quite as big as those days gone by), followed by whichever video sermon I am led to watch, followed by lunch, blogging, another video sermon, some reading, dinner, and blogging again. And some praise music mixed up in all of that, too.
Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn’t admit I usually sneak a nap or two in there as well. After all, it is supposed to be a day of rest, right?
I just noticed the time. My heart still sinks when I realize Sunday is almost over. Anxiety is always on the other side of the door, waiting to come in. No. This time, I won’t open that door. Jesus will hold it closed for me.
Thank you for reading these rambles. May Jesus bless you.
“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.” Isaiah 41:10