All of My Help Cometh From The Lord, A Street Cry, A Street Witness:
- Pastor Pizarro
- Apr 20
- 7 min read
Updated: Apr 20
Isaiah 41 The Helper of Israel
“Be silent before me, you islands! Let the nations renew their strength! Let them come forward and speak; let us meet together at the place of judgment.
2 “Who has stirred up one from the east, calling him in righteousness to his service? He hands nations over to him and subdues kings before him. He turns them to dust with his sword, to windblown chaff with his bow. 3 He pursues them and moves on unscathed, by a path his feet have not traveled before. 4 Who has done this and carried it through, calling forth the generations from the beginning? I, the Lord, with the first of them and with the last, I am he.” 5 The islands have seen it and fear; the ends of the earth tremble. They approach and come forward; 6 they help each other and say to their companions, “Be strong!”
Yesterday, as I walked the street, I found myself beside a corner store where a young man emerged and paused on the curb. In that moment, he lifted his eyes to the sky, to Heaven, and cried out, “Why, Father, why me?” He repeated it again, and again, until the city around him seemed to fade. He stood there, not out of silliness or bravado, but in the raw ache of his heart, overwhelmed by emotion, seeking clarity, seeking relief, seeking a sign that God was near.
His voice was cavernous, a deep tide that drowned out the mechanical hum of the city and the roar of buses, the clatter of air conditioners, the blare of horns. It rose as if from the very walls of the tall housing complex across 3rd Avenue, as though a megaphone had been handed to his sorrow. The sound stretched and echoed, a haunting message whispered from above, carrying its weight through the street and into every open window, every paused living room, every doorstep where a neighbor paused to listen, if only for a breath.
People peered from their windows, and others kept walking, New Yorkers doing what New Yorkers do well, acknowledging without intrusion, allowing a moment to exist between strangers. And yet, in that ordinary afternoon, I felt a common tremor in the room of humanity. It was almost as if everyone was riveted by a single moment of lament, a shared inhalation.
A couple nearby spoke aloud, a plea dressed in curiosity: “I wonder if he is hurting or did he just win the lotto?” The questions hung in the air like coins on a church pew. I stepped toward them and spoke plainly, with the tenderness that mercy longs to give: “That is a man in pain.” The truth settled on us all, a simple but heavy truth.
I walked to him, gently placing a hand on the shoulder of a fellow traveler I had just met in mercy. I said, “Son, the Lord will see you through this. Whatever is painful right now, it will pass. There are better days ahead. You’ve taken a courageous first step by surrendering to God.” His tears came; they fell freely, and in them I saw a doorway opening, not to relief that instant, but to the possibility of repair, restoration, and hope.
“That’s just what I needed to hear,” he whispered through the sobs. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to soften as the noise dimmed, the pavement warmed, and a single prayer rose in the hush between two strangers.
Isaiah 41:13: "For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you" (NIV).
Psalm 121:1-2: "I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth" (NIV)
Then the moment shifted. He murmured, almost to himself, “I have to go,” and he turned, moving across the street toward a bus that would carry him farther from this curb, perhaps toward healing he could not yet name. I watched him look back once, a fleeting glance through the window, as if the moment still hung over him, a veil of sorrow that he carried into the ordinary rhythm of his day.
Situations like this press into the core of who I am as a person, whether as a pastor, a firefighter, or a neighbor. More than anything, today I want to honor the one who was hurting on that curb. The man in distress wasn’t a case to solve, but a life to witness. His pain spoke in a language I’ve learned to hear: not with judgment or distance, but with presence, attention, and mercy.
I imagined the weight he carried: a heartbreak that won’t heal with a quick fix, a loss that rewrites a day, a burden that makes every ordinary breath feel heavy. Maybe someone he cherished is gone, maybe a job failed him, maybe a love fell apart. The specifics aren’t as important as this truth: when pain arrives so suddenly, it asks for a human response that doesn’t flinch.
lm 46:1: "God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble" (NIV).
Hebrews 4:16: "Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need"
What transformed that moment wasn’t just his cry, but our capacity to listen. The beauty lay in the courage of his outcry so unabashed, public, vulnerable. It was a cry that said, “I am here, and I need help.” In that raw honesty, he reached toward something greater, toward a source of hope beyond the street’s noise. And in that same instant, others nearby offered a quiet thread of mercy be it a word, or a glance, or a shared space of listening.
I stood there not to repair his life in a single moment, but to witness his humanity and, in doing so, to witness God’s reach into a street, a window, a bus ride, a momentary pause in the bustle. If my presence offered even a small measure of steadiness, it was only because someone offered it to me first: a reminder that we are not made to shoulder such burdens alone.
My prayer for him is simple: that someone else will cross his path with a steady, hopeful word, a listening ear, and a consistent rhythm of care. That this arduous season will bend toward mercy where what’s gained is a little more resilience, a little more community, and a little more room to breathe in the midst of pain.
And then his own question rose into the air, perhaps the same question many of us have asked when pain is loud enough to drown out everything else: “Why, God, why me?” The question itself becomes a doorway into faith that does not pretend pain isn’t real, but faith that trusts there is a purpose to the pain, and companionship in the journey.
Psalm 121
A song of ascents:
1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
The Song My Help
based on scripture Psalm 121
My Help
I will lift up mine eyes to the hills
From whence cometh my help
My help cometh from the Lord
The Lord which made heaven and earth
He said he would not suffer thy foot
Thy foot to be moved
The Lord which keepeth thee
He will not slumber nor sleep
Oh the Lord is thy keeper
The Lord is thy shade
Upon thy right hand
Upon thy right hand
No, the sun shall not smite thee by day
Nor the moon by night
He shall preserve thy soul
Even forever more
My help, my help, my help
All of my help cometh from the Lord
I will lift up mine eyes to the hills
From whence cometh my help
My help cometh from the Lord
The Lord which made heaven and earth
He said he would not suffer thy foot
Thy foot to be moved
The Lord which keepeth thee
He will not slumber nor sleep
Oh the Lord is thy keeper
The Lord is thy shade
Upon thy right hand
Upon thy right hand
No, the sun shall not smite thee by day
Nor the moon by night
He shall preserve thy soul
Even forever more
My help, my help, my help
All of my help cometh from the Lord
Oh the Lord is thy keeper
Oh the Lord is thy keeper
The Lord is thy shade (the Lord is thy shade)
Upon thy right hand, upon thy right hand
No the sun shall not smite thee (no the sun shall not smite me by day)
Nor the moon by night, he shall preserve thy soul even for ever more (even for ever more)
My help (my help) my help (comes from you Lord Jesus) my help (all of my help) all of my help cometh from the Lord
My help (I can count on you Jesus), my help, 'cause I know you are, all of my help
All of my help cometh from the Lord
All of my help cometh from the Lord
I wanted to live, I wanted to die (all of my help) all of my help (cometh from the Lord)
(My help) my help (my help) comes from you Lord Jesus (my help) all of my help (all of my help)
Cometh from the Lord (my help), I can count on you Jesus, 'cause I know you will
All of my help (all of my help) cometh from my Lord (my help)
I know I can make it (my help) 'cause I know you will be there
All of my help cometh from my Lord
All of my help cometh from the Lord
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Jacquelyn Gouche-Farris
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