From A Seven Year Old's Pen

(AH! I posted twice in one day! The Posting-Until-It -Gets-Obnoxious Bug has bitten me! AHHHH!!!)

This is a story entitled The Boxcar Children that I have posted several times on my blog.

Just reading this makes me feel nostalgic all over again. I have changed so much. It's not the changes in and of themselves that are bad, but the fact that I'm changing. :(

(All typos are purposeful. I typed the story just as I had written it five years ago.)

The Boxcar Children

By Rebekah Alden

There lived 4 children. The oldest one was Joshua, 18. The next was Kylee, 16. Next Evan, 15. Next was Rebekah, 14.

One day Rebekah looked out the window of there big house.

“I want to go outside!” She anocconed.

“No silly goose!” said Kylee “its raining!”

“Caml down!” said Joshua loudly.

“Yea!” agreed Evan.

“Okay!” said Rebekah.

They listen to the pitter patter of the rain.

“I want to go outside,” said Rebekah.

“I told you No!” said Joshua.

“Okay…!”

“Time to go to bed!" Said Joshua.

“Okay!” everyone said.

In the morning Rebekah woke first then she got dressed and went downstairs quickly and quitly for not to everyone wake up.

“Why does everyone boss me around?” she quisoined herself.

“Why am I the youngest?”

“Why do I have to be 14?”

“Why do I have to be me?”

“Why, do I?

“Rebekah?” said Kylee, coming in.

“Huh?” Rebekah turned around. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” said Kylee. “I know how you feel.”

“How do you?”

“Once Joshua always bossed me around once I was the youngest.”

“You, where?”

“Yes.”

It was breakfast and Rebekah chewed thoughtfully.

“Why are you so quit?” asked Even.

“Nothen.”

“Oh”

Rebekah and Kylee shered a glance.

A silent gulped the room as the 4 children chewed there breakfast slowly.

After breakfast Rebekah and Evan went to do there schoolwork.

Kylee and Joshua went outside to talk.

“This is a fine day,” said Kylee.

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Joshua broke the silence.

“You look preety.”

“Thank you,” Kyle said “you look handsome”

Down in basement Even and Rebekah where working.

“I’m Done” Evan said. He went outside with Kylee.

“Where’s Joshua?” asked Evan.

“In his room.”

Evan came and sat with kylee.

They sat there ton fifteen mintuns.

“Well, I’ll go see Joshua,” said Kylee “in his room, he must be lonesome.”

Kylee stood and went inside.

Evan lay on his back and looked up into the sky. It wasa bright blue sowling the rest of the world.

“I’ll go check the mail, see if there is any mail for me or Joshua or Kylee or Rebekah.”

He went, found some Mail for Kylee and Rebekah.

Evan went upstairs to the girls room, expecting only Rebekah, but when he opened the door Kylee was there too. Her face looked worried, so did Rebekah.

“Whuts the matter?”

“When I came in Joshua’s room, his face looked pinched, as if he hadn’t ate for days. I asked whuts the matter, he said he felt sick!”

“Why did he feel sick?” asked Evan.

“I’ll go ask him.” Said Kylee

She went and appered again. “he said he ate his lunch and saw a black thing, he thought it was a seed and he ate it.”

“Oh NO!” cried Evan “get a doctor!”

“I’ll call one,” said Rebekah hurrying on.

An hour later, the doctor looked down Joshua’s throat.

"Hm…” he said “it looks like Joshua ate not a seed…but a tick!”

“Oh No!” Kylee ran upstairs and Rebekah fainted.

Only Evan stood standing, but his face white as snow.

“My brother!” Evan gasped for air.

Kylee came downstairs, her face red from crying.

“Will he be alright? Will he be able to get out of bed?”

“he’ll be okay but it might take painchnt.”

“That’ll be okay.” Said Kylee.

The docter left.

“how should we get Rebekah up?” said Kylee.

“Let’s doump water on her”

“Okay”

They dumbed water on Rebekah and she woke up spporting the water out of her mouth.

Once Rebekah dressed in wrarm clothes she went down stairs.

Joshua was liying on the coch his face pinched and white

Evan and Kylee towerd over him there face looked far from relaxed.

The doorbell rang.

"I’ll get it” cried Rebekah.

It was Mrs. huckleberry.

She was holding a present for Joshua who was sick.

“I hope he will get better soon for my chrideren are longing for his Jokes he used to tell”

“us too” Reekah said “please come in Joshua would be plesed to have you here”

CHAPTER TWO:

Rebekah was writing.

Evan was reading.

Kylee was drawing.

And Joshua was asleep.

Rebekah was writing about a girl her age who livied alone in the woods, and fed on berries and roots.

Evan was reading about Robon Hood and his crew and how he stole from the rich and gave to the poor. And now his crew grew bigger and bigger.

Kylee was drawing a pichutre of a town and all the people running around and selling, bying and playing all the towns people loved there town by the looks Kylee put on their faces.

Joshua was dreaming, dreaming a horrible dream where he was bound hand and foot and thrown into the river where monsters sowlled him up.

“I’m bored!” said Rebekah putting down her notepad. “My story’s getting boring”

“Why?” asked Kylee looking up from her pad.

“Because I don’t have any Idieas for it.” She replied

Rebekah was taking a walk, thinking of an Idia for her story.

“I can have someone feed a Lion…No that’s too boring…”

At the house Kylee fed Joshua his medicine and Evan watched. He watched the gooey pink stuff go into Joshua’s mouth.

“Ugh that must be disgusting stuff!”

“I guess it is” said Kylee.

Evan looked up at his 16teen year old sister.

“Kylee, will he get better?”

“I think so”

Kylee hoped hoped and prayed. Joshua was slowly getting better and Kylee was thankfull but she would hope and pray intill he was better.

Evan did the same but his prayers where shorten then Kylee’s because he loved Joshua too it just his days were more busy then Kylee’s.

Rebekah loved to whrite. Evan loved to read. Kylee loved to draw. Joshua loved to play.

There hobbys were different but there lives were the same.

Joshua was waking and he knew he would have to eat his madincine.

He did not want to and his dream troubled him gratly.

Kylee went outside to hope and pray.

“Oh Lord God, Please help Joshua to get better soon and not get hurt and allow the sickness may leave his body quickly and gracefully so not to leave any sickness behind it.”

In 4 weeks, Joshua was better but very weak in his legs and stomace. His arms were not so strong but he was well agen.

“He’ll feel much better in 1 more week.” Said Kylee.

“He will?” asked Rebekah.

“Yes” said Kylee “The docter said so himself too.”

“Yippee!” cried Rebekah. “Then in 1 more week me and him can play War or Make a Match or Minopoly or Uno or Risk. We can listen to his Jokes, Stories, Knock’s Knock’s Jokes. We could play horses or planes or Legos or anything! We could go outside or play with the new neighbors. I can’t wait tell one more week!"

But in one more week when Joshua awoke from his deep sleep he will dispoint Rebekah greatly.

“Joshua, want to play Make a Match or Minopoly or Risk or Uno or horses or…I know lets go outside and play with our frands.”

“Oh…No I can’t I’m to tired maybe you can do those things with evan instead.”

“What!” I…can’t believe this, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll…I’ll tell Kylee!”

Joshua was sitting in his room watching people and things pass by with his binoculars.

“Akkool!” said Joshua as he looked at the lisences plate of a car.

“Okay” said Rebekah who was writing it down.

Rebekah was playing on the computer and she went to “Acarda Games” Joshua watched to make sure she did it right. She was playing Tank Games.

“Turn right…watch out…there’s a tank!”

“Okay.”

“hurry…shoot him…hurry…get that!"

“get that green thing?”

“yes…hurry…There’s a tank, turn left…move forward in attack!"

“Okay."

“There’s a helicopter shoot him shoot him again. Now get that red thing shoot him!” Joshua kept giving orders

Kylee and her friend were playing.

The End.

I will post soon, just about my life and the things going on. Soon, soon, I will have a post that doesn't have a point. Just a place where I can breathe.

The Flash

And then, for one glorious, supreme moment, came "the flash". Emily called it that, although she felt that the name didn't exactly describe it. It couldn't be described -- not even to Father, who always seemed a little puzzled by it. Emily never spoke of it to anyone else.

 It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside -- but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond -- only a glimpse -- and heard a note of unearthly music.

This moment came rarely -- went swiftly, leaving her breathless with the inexpressible delight of it. She could never recall it -- never summon it -- never pretend it; but the wonder of it stayed with her for days. It never came twice with the same thing. To-night the dark boughs against that far-off sky had given it. It had come with a high, wild note of wind in the night, with a shadow wave over a ripe field, with a greybird lighting on her window-sill in a storm, with the singing of "Holy, holy, holy" in church, with a glimpse of the kitchen fire when she had come home on a dark autumn night, with the spirit-like blue of ice palms on a twilight pane, with a felicitous new word when she writing down a 'description' of something. And always when the flash came to her Emily felt that life was a wonderful, mysterious thing of persistent beauty.

I have always felt the flash. I never gave it a name, I never described it to anyone--but the flash was a huge part of my life. It was, I think, what inspired and shaped my insatiable itch for writing.

I have written stories for as long as I can remember. Ever since I could read stories, I began writing them. Even as a young child I remember having the flash--pretty much the only things I can remember of those earlier years. L. M. Montgomery gave my flash a name and a description. As soon as I read about it, I knew that that was what I kept experiencing.  

This describes the flash exactly, almost word for word as I have always unconsciously thought of it. Emily seems exactly like me--it is unnerving at times.

It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside -- but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond -- only a glimpse -- and heard a note of unearthly music.

The flash must sound stupid to those of you who haven't experienced it. It cannot be described exactly--I could write and write for a million years, and I would never be able to transcribe it into mere words.

I never get the flash for the same thing. One night a full moon causes me to have it. I go weak-kneed and breathless. My heart rate doesn't go back to normal for several minutes. The next day, I get it because of the frosty pane of my window, like angel's breath across the blotched glass. The next day, I get it because of the mist and fog in the morning, or because of the rising sun. In the middle of a writing class I got it, when I read the word "elude." The weirdest flash I ever had was in a science class when I was looking at a hydra through the microscope.

Directly after the flash has left, I feel so lonely, but then the feeling passes and I positively long for a pen and paper in which to write about it. It's like...I have to write. I don't have a choice. My whole being just...agh. Whatever I write that attempts to describe the flash will sound stupid. The thing is, I can't describe it. But it's then, directly after the flash, that I know that I was meant to be a writer.

But that's the weird thing--in all of my old diaries, I found no mention of the flash. It was like it was too sacred to write about.

Odd, isn't it?

The flash is my inspiration, my motivation. It is God-given.

If I had one wish, it would be that I could bring the "gods' random word" that I overhear during the flash, that I could bring that into writing and into the ordinary world.

Oh, I live for the flash.

This Pretty Much Sums It Up

I typed up something I wrote about my SAT test-taking experience. It pretty much sums the whole thing up. (and no, I didn't exaggerate on the evil women...at least, not a lot)

(I didn't edit this at all, so any typos or weird things, I apologize for beforehand.)

SAT

The Experience Of A Lifetime...

...And I Don't Mean That In A Good Way!

KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS--ALMOST

My mom’s hand jostled me out of sleep. Yawning, I pulled my clothes on, stuck my contacts in, brushed my hair, gulped down breakfast and collected my stuff for the test. As I headed out for the car, I was unaware that the driveway was completely iced over with black ice. My feet went out from underneath me, and I heard a loud crack as my head hit the ice/driveway. Stars splashed across my vision and I lay limply on the ice as I fought to stay conscious. Then I recovered, sat up and moaned as my head seared in intense pain. My dad helped me up, and gathered my scattered books, pencils and calculator. I could hardly get into the car because my vision was flickering and wavering, my world was spinning vertigo, and my head ached. After ten minutes of staring silently at the seat in front of me, everything went back to normal. I knew that I would regret falling when I would be attempting to ignore the pain in my head while trying to find an answer to a difficult problem in the test.

I wanted to scream throughout the whole car-ride. My head felt like it was split down the back. My eyes hurt, my nose was running, my head ached, and my dad had one of those talk-shows with the gravel-voiced announcers turned up way too loud. The whole car positively throbbed as the gravel-voiced announcer proclaimed his disapproval of such-and-such. I never thought that I would see the day when I would be relieved to pull into a four-hour test center.

THE CONFUSED BIGWIG

After entering the testing area, Dad, brother and I received directions from a bossy looking woman with weird glasses and headed toward the room my brother and I were assigned to. There was a steady stream of kids. One kid was so nervous he dropped his calculator and the batteries flew across the floor to hide under a locker. He looked so embarrassed that it made me want to drop mine just to make him feel better.

A stout woman wearing a bunchy sweater that made her look fatter than she probably was in reality was standing in the middle of the hall, rebuking parents and examining papers.

She spotted us with her glittering eyes. I felt like a mouse in the sights of a hawk. “You there!” she rasped. “Sir, I must ask you to leave. Right now!”

Dad was slightly flustered. “Yes, I understand. I’m just getting my kids to their classroom.”

“Sir, I must ask you to leave right now,” the woman repeated, gesturing to the door with a flabby arm. She zoned in on the papers we held in our hands and snatched them like a maniac. “Aha!” she screeched. “You need student ID, sir.” At Dad’s blank look, she repeated, “Student ID! You need it!”

“I didn’t think—well—Student ID? Isn’t that for highschoolers?” Dad asked. My brother and I exchanged amused glances and tried not to burst out laughing.

“For highschoolers? ‘Course not.” She squinted at my brother and me. “You kids fifth graders?”

“Eighth,” coughed my brother.

“Yes, definitely, student ID is needed, otherwise...” she paused dramatically, “...your test scores will be cancelled!”

“Well then,” said Dad, trying to be cheery, “I will certainly get my kids their student ID.” He was just humoring her, and the woman knew it.

She shook her finger at us. “You don’t forget it. Otherwise these kids—fifth graders, you say?—these kids will have no SAT scores!”

“Eighth grade!” said my brother a little louder, but the woman ignored us.

She turned away and began railing another parent for coming too far. My dad whispered, “You hear anything about student ID?”

“No,” I said. “Just the highschoolers—who are taking the SAT for college entry—need it...not those who are taking it for practice.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” nodded my dad. With a respectful jerk of his thumb at the woman, he muttered, “She’s confused.” In a louder voice he said, “Anyways, you two have a good time with your test. Do your best. Bye.”

Echoing farewells, my brother and I steered clear of the confused woman and headed to our classroom.


UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS AT TEST-TAKING

I was somewhat nervous and tried to avoid any more women who looked like they were in charge. My brother and I entered classroom 201b, took our jackets off, and stood awkwardly in line, sheepishly shuffling our feet and appearing engrossed in the papers that we held in our hands. All the other kids seemed to know each other, calling out remarks and exclamations.

I received my desk number and meekly sat down. In a few moments, a tall, bespectacled blonde woman marched in, her face friendly but determined—like she wanted to have fun but didn’t have the time.

“Welcome, children.”

I hated the way she said “children”.

“This is a very important test, and I’m glad you all took the time to come take it.” She smiled, and then it slid off her face as she continued on. “You are not allowed to use calculators on this test unless it is a math section—and only an all-math section.”

Is there half-math half-English sections? I wondered sarcastically.

“I will hand out your test booklets. Do not open them until I tell you to do so!”

The kids exchanged scared glances, and no-one even dared touch their booklets.

“Now,” she continued in a less rigid tone. “You will have 45 minutes to work on the first section.” Her eyes became glittering stars shooting daggers at us all. “If I so much catch you peeking into the next section, I will kick you out before you can say ‘cheating.’ Is that clear?”

A few kids nodded nervously, but most of them just stared blankly at the woman, like deer caught in an oncoming car’s headlights.

“No talking, no passing notes, no looking in previous or upcoming test sections, no food or beverages in this test room, and the use of electronics besides calculators is strictly prohibited—whether in the testing room or during break. If I see anyone using any electronics besides calculators, I will kick them out before they can say ‘stupid.’” She looked around the room, as if daring someone to raise their hand and contradict her. When no brave soul did so, she plunged on. “There is to be no breaking of these rules, otherwise the result will be immediate and final dismissal from this test. Am I understood?”

I gulped.

She droned on about rules and what would happen if we broke them—emphasizing on the punishment and shame involved with rule-breaking. I grew more and more nervous every second she spoke, and was petrified when she told us to begin. I knew I was going to blunder something up. I took a deep breath and dove into the problems.

I was still nervous after the first five English problems, but then I let my geeky side wash over me and became completely engrossed in the test. I finished a few minutes before the administrator shrieked, “Time’s up! Pencils down! I said, pencils down!”

She stood from her desk, her face a black mask of rage. She glared at all of us for a second or two, then pointed a cruel finger at a greasy-haired boy who jumped. “You,” she growled, “you stupid boy! Why did you look ahead into the next section? Were you cheating? Did you not know that that was breaking the rules most atrociously? Did you think that I would not see you?” She addressed all of us: “I see everything.” She turned back to the cheater. “Get your stuff. Now. You’re leaving.” I could have sworn she then muttered “imbecile” under her breath.

The boy’s eyes widened and he paled. He grabbed his pencils and calculator, and allowed himself to be marched out of the room.

The woman returned. “That is what happens to those who break the rules.” She sighed. “Next section, you have thirty minutes to work on thirty questions. I will give you a five-minute warning. You may begin.”

Once again, I picked up my pencil, took a deep breath and began working, carefully, but as quickly as I could. Everyone finished early. One strawberry-blonde girl turned in her seat and spoke to her neighbor, who nodded, whispered a few words in return and then fell silent. I watched the administrator’s reaction, and sure enough, the woman had caught that, and the set of her mouth was frozen disapproval.

The woman told us to put our pencils down, then stalked out of the room. She returned and said fiercely, “I am waiting for someone to escort you two ladies out of the room for talking.”

The two girls in question stiffened and exchanged shocked glances.

A stout woman with a whistle around her neck and a pompous air rushed in. “What is the problem?” she barked.

“This young lady”—the administrator pointed at the strawberry-blonde girl—“turned around and talked to this young lady” –pointed to the Indian girl—“who replied to her.”

The stout woman’s brow knotted as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You two. Up. Get your stuff. Out.”

The two girls moved as if in a daze. They picked up their stuff and floated out, their eyes wide and unblinking.

FINALLY FINISHED—OR SO I THINK!

The rest of the test passed by in a long blur. I scratched away at the problems, I tried to concentrate despite my aching head, and I think I did well. I haven’t gotten my test scores back yet, and even if I did I wouldn’t share them up here.

Throughout the first ten minutes of the car-ride home, I looked forward eagerly to a leisure-filled day of lounging and talking and writing and chatting and listening to music. Until my mom called.

After I filled her in on all the drama that occurred, she told me that I had a seven-and-a-half-hour babysitting job. She had already accepted it for me.

My work never ends. ;)

"Backing Down"? Don't Think So...

...at least, not with this as my inspiration. ;)

I'm at war with the world and they
Try to pull me into the dark
I struggle to find my faith
As I'm slippin' from your arms
It's getting harder to stay awake
And my strength is fading fast
You breathe into me at last...

I'm awake, I'm alive,
Now I know what I believe inside
Now it's my time
I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life
Here, right now!
I'll stand my ground and never back down
I know what I believe inside
I'm awake and I'm alive...

I'm at war with the world 'cause I
Ain't never gonna sell my soul
I've already made up my mind
No matter what, I can't be bought or sold
When my faith is getting weak
And I feel like giving in
You breathe into me again...

I'm awake, I'm alive,
Now I know what I believe inside
Now it's my time
I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life
Here, right now!
I'll stand my ground and never back down
I know what I believe inside
I'm awake and I'm alive...

Bridge:
Waking up Waking up, Waking up Waking up
Waking up Waking up, Waking up Waking up
In the dark, I can feel you in my sleep
In your arms I feel you breathe into me
Forever hold this heart that I will give to you
Forever I will live for you!

I'm awake, I'm alive,
Now I know what I believe inside
Now it's my time
I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life
Here, right now!
I'll stand my ground and never back down
I know what I believe inside
I'm awake and I'm alive...

          awake and alive by skillet

Skillet isn't normally my inspiration band--more like my "turn it up sing it loud wake me up" band. While this song is a "turn it up sing it loud wake me up" song, it's also a "turn it up listen to words be moved" song.

Take a look at these words again:

I'll stand my ground and never back down.

I'm not going to build a Bible study around a Skillet song (or will I? You never know! *winks*), but I needed the wake-up call. I have not been standing my ground in regard to what I believe in. Even in church, I don't comment when others swear profusely, make crude or cutting remarks, or act immodestly. I just kind of half-laugh while rolling my eyes--but I don't say anything.

I don't defend those who are getting beat up on. I don't reach out to the kid who is sitting alone.

After all, it's my reputation I'm trying to protect. A "cool", "popular" person wouldn't be defending and reaching out to the "un-cool," "un-popular" people. (I put those words in quotations because God doesn't believe in a "cool" or "un-cool" person...though, unfortunately, I do. But, believe me, that's gonna change.)

Nuh-uh. Not a good attitude.

One of the things I have been praying most hard about this week is that God would give me unconditional love. Love for everyone--not just my friends.

This trait is the one I love most about God--that, and his grace (after which I was named after... "Rebekah Grace," my full name). God has unconditional love: for the poor, for the broken, and for the "un-cool", as well as for the rich, for the righteous, and for the supposedly "cool". To truly be after His Spirit, I must strive after this unconditional love myself.

Anyways--just thought I'd share the lyrics and my thoughts with you. :)

Prayer--Potent, but Taken for Granted

I have been a Christian all my life. I have grown up (and am growing up) in a Christian household. I have Christian family, Christian relatives and Christian friends. I own two Bibles. I keep one on my bedstand and one in the living room. I read it every morning and every night. I pray every morning, every night, and before every meal. I participate in Bible time with my family. I have Bible verses and meaningful poems all over my walls. I have memorized Philippians and James, and countless other verses.

Sound like the perfect Christian?

In deeds, maybe. In spirit?

I used to think so. But lately...I'm not so sure.

Sunday morning was when I first realized that maybe I'm only following the letter of the law--but am avoiding the spirit of it all. My "Sunday-school teacher" (Hate that term, makes Sunday morning sound like school--which, in a way, it is...but in every way, it's not. Does that make sense?) explained how, in the Old Testament, there was a check-list, of sorts. The OT gave a list of strict rules: Don't murder. Don't commit adultery. Love your neighbor. It implied that if you followed these rules, you would go to heaven. Jesus says something else though: Yeah, I don't want you to murder, but don't even get angry. Don't commit adultery, but don't even have lust. Love your neighbor, true, but even love your enemy.

He rose the standard.

While I was listening to my awesome teacher, I realized that I really am not following the spirit of the law. I obviously haven't murdered anyone, I most definitely haven't commited adultery (obviously not married, but still), and how easy is it to love your friends? Super easy.

I have gotten angry--countless times. Haven't felt lust yet--but I'm only twelve. No idea how hard it gets later. And I dislike my "enemies"--strongly.

What else have I done completely wrong? I wondered.

Then Monday morning it hit me.

I realized that I took prayer for granted. I had unconsciously defined prayer as a way to get what I want, when I want...I took advantage of the fact that the most powerful being ever imaginable listened to me. Prayer changed from something sacred and real, to an Aladdin's lamp--I limited God, picturing him as a genie, of sorts. I began cluttering up my prayers with unnecessary wants and selfish desires. I prayed for certain things to happen to me; I prayed for certain people to stop bugging me; I prayed, I prayed, and I prayed...but for the completely wrong things.

So...I decided to pray four times per day, at scheduled times. Like the Jews do--but just for a week. And I resolved to keep the prayers off of my personal worldly needs--like sleepovers, belongings, etc.

It's been working great so far. I pray at nine o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock and six o'clock. Instead of praying about worldly needs/wants, I pray that God would give me the inner qualities spoken of in 1 Corinthians 13, in Philipians, in James, in the Beautitudes.

I'm not exactly sure why I love the scheduled prayer type of thing...maybe it's because I feel like, in the middle of whatever I'm doing, God is willing to listen to me.

He is willing to listen to my prayers. He is willing to answer them.

He is ready to forgive my past carelessness.

Don't we have an amazing God?