By Jason Ray Foster © 2026 I stand at the edge of what they call opportunity With empty hands and a full history of loss. They say, Build something. But they never ask What tools a man is given When he starts with nothing but breath. I ask Yahweh in the quiet places—In the cracks between prayers and hunger— “How do You expect me to rise When there is no one to lift me?” The sky does not answer quickly. Heaven is patient. Men are not. I ask my fellow man, Who climbed ladders already standing, Who were handed names, numbers, connections, A place to land when they fell— “Tell me, brother, How does a man with no net jump?” Some say, Try harder. Some say, Have faith. Some say nothing at all And pass me like I am invisible. The universe hums on, indifferent, Stars burning on borrowed fuel, Planets kept in place by forces unseen. Even creation itself does not stand alone—Everything is held By something greater than itself. Scripture whispers what pride refuses to hear: “Do not put your trust in princes, Nor in a son of man, in whom there is no help.” —Psalm 146:3 And yet another truth cuts just as deep: “Two are better than one…For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls.” —Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 So which is it, Yahweh? Is the help of man futile—Or is isolation the real curse? How did anyone get anywhere alone? Who built without inheritance? Who rose without a name, Without a hand, Without a door already cracked open? Every story of success hides a voice that once said, Come stay with us. I’ll make a call. Here—use this. Even Moses needed Aaron. Even David needed Jonathan. Even the Son was sent with disciples. So I ask again, not in anger, but in truth: How do I make something out of nothing When nothing is all I’ve been given? Yahweh—If You are my Father, then teach me. If You are my Provider, then open a way. If You use men as vessels, Then please—send one. I am not asking for riches. I am asking for help. Not applause. Not pity.