“Who’s praying for me?” she asked us. When none of her fellow choristers responded, she persisted, “Who’s praying for me?”
Indeed, I had been, because I had a crush on her. Though we both attended the same high school, I never saw here there — only at church choir. I had decided that the least I could do for someone I thought I loved would be to pray for her.
No one answered her interrogation that Sunday afternoon but I. Proud yet confused, I responded evasively: “How do you know anyone is praying for you?”
“Because everything is going wrong,” she said angrily. “All of my plans keep messing up. Nothing is going right. I know someone is praying for me!” ...