Pa’s glassy eyes slid briefly to Tripp. “I would, but I have a sore throat.” He sure wasn’t lying about that. It would take longer than a few days to get over the damage he’d inflicted on himself this time. He refocused on my eyes, which worried me. “Those lyrics . . . they talked about having a hunger for dreams you’ll never see and how the world seems to fall down on you. Y’all ever feel like your world is fallin’ down on ya?”

Responding yeses rippled through the group, but Pa didn’t acknowledge them as he remained honed in on me. Everyone else faded and it was just my father and me, both broken and weary, teetering on the edge of throwing in the towel.

“We all dream of what we want our lives to be, but some will just never . . .” His voice gave out, so he paused to clear his throat again. “I might not know how to fix things for you, for me . . . Just know that you can take it to God.”

“Amen,” Foxy said softly.

Pa dropped his gaze to the Bible on the podium and flipped more pages, the ruffling of the thin paper the only sound penetrating the heavy silence. “Almost half of the Psalms are lamentations.” Looking up again, he began reciting several verses. “‘Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed. . . . I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.’ ‘Why standest thou afar off, O Lord? Why hidest thyself in times of trouble?’ ‘How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?’” His lips quivered as he wiped his eyes.

“Help him, Lord.” Foxy was whispering, but it was so quiet in the chapel we all heard her anyway.

“In Psalm 3, verse 4, David said, ‘I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah.’” Pa closed the Bible and looked at me once again. “Just as we can dance like King David in the good times, we can cry out to God like King David in the difficult times. If I could take the pain away, I would, but I can’t. It’s a part of this life, plain and simple. We all fall, make mistakes we aren’t proud of . . .”

He rubbed the side of his covered neck gingerly. “It’s up to us to make the choice to carry on. When it seems you have no one to turn to, remember to turn to God. Bring your pleas, your burdens, your anger, whatever it is —just bring it to him. Don’t put your faith in me. Put it in God.”