When my mother disappeared and my father grew too hard to carry, there was one verse from the Psalms that I wrote over and over in my spiral notebook during class, and repeated while I warmed up for the mile relay during track meets, and remembered when I could feel tears trying to sneak out of my eyes: When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up. And in the moments when I felt like the last boy in the farthest reaches of the Milky Way, the void too large, the air too thin, I would close my eyes and sing— Walk with me, Lord Walk with me Walk with me, Lord Walk with
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