I attended our Parish Church’s BEC Gen Assembly last Saturday. As we were winding down and was about to eat our agape meal, the coordinator asked everyone to stop awhile and pray for me. I was sort of embarrassed as only a few actually know of my illness. I was torn between being thankful and a feeling of my privacy being violated as they lay hands over my head, while the others in the church looked on. Maybe, it’s better that many know, so many would be praying for me. Maybe I should have told everyone I know to pray for me then when I first discovered the lump the way a former co-worker announced in her Facebook that she has a suspicious breast mass and underwent lumpectomy and asked for prayers. Guess what the findings are for her a week after? Benign! My favorite preacher spoke about the effectivity of storming the heaven with prayers, and yet, only my closest knew about my lump until I was about to be operated on. Why didn’t I apply it then? I thought maybe the others didn’t care or some who didn’t really like me would be happier to know I have the Big C. Can our prayers make God change His plan?