Yeah. You know we created this event.

"if it ain't BROke. . ."

We're doing like Pastor Mark says, and buying a [plaid] shirt with buttons.

Join us for a night appreciating our Reformed Christian brothers, or at least the things that make them tick. We're playing poker and [root]beer pong, smoking cigars and pipes, shooting and burning stuff, and probably discussing the five points of Calvinism--to the glory of God and the good of all people!!

Feel free to bring:

- A plaid shirt with buttons

- Your ESV study bible

- Anything by CS Lewis or Grudem

- Tattoos of swords or ancient Hebrew

- Meat

- Mustaches

- Engagement rings. . .

Please don't bring:

- Boys (or men--we know there's a difference). . .this is a girls event. Let's not lose the irony here.

You're My Funny Valentine. . .

There should probably be rules against wandering through the sketchiest part of University District with big red hair and a big grin, but I was having a really good February 14th. No chocolate, no roses, no worries at all, just sunshine and a grace-saturated day. Smiling at students and Ave rats alike, I left the sketchy Safeway on 50th with a huge box of strawberries and chocolate for a Singles Awareness Day party that evening.

"Happy Valentines Day"

I kept walking a few yards before realizing that the vagrant I'd passed as I rounded the corner wasn't begging for anything or trying to sell me pot. So I turned around, walked back, and offered him a handful of strawberries. I know I'm a dork, but they were too juicy not to share. After we'd eaten a handful together, I hurried on my way, thankful that the only boy I'd talked to all V-day at least had blue eyes and appreciated delicious fruit.

I didn't think I'd get to see those blue eyes again, though.

Last Saturday, I was again leaving Sketchville Safeway in the rain. After a long day, my feet hurt, my head hurt, and my arms hurt from carrying a week's worth of groceries. That's when I noticed someone, obviously strung out on something, following me out of the store and across the parking lot. "Hey, hey red. Hey lady with the red hair! Hey, hey come back!!" Creepy. I kept walking, and creeper kept following, and I scanned the parking lot for anyone who might help if I couldn't shake this disturbed person.

Panic.

And that's when my blue-eyed Valentine showed up out of nowhere and called the creeper guy off, distracting him as I hurried across the Ave and into a crowd of students.

I don't believe in karma, but I do believe in grace, happy endings, and guardian angels. . . oh, and strawberries.

While shopping at Haggen today, I walked up to the good-looking cashier and asked, "Hi! Can I give you phone number?"
"Of course," he smiled. He took my number, scanned my groceries, and I ended up saving ¢60. Haggen Card. Works every time :)

But seriously folks. . . the gimmick here is that Haggen, like most grocery stores, will let you use your membership rewards by either scanning your card or simply entering in your phone number. Yet if I'd said that in the opening line it would have been boring. It's so much more fun to carefully craft a story and hopefully evoke a smile.

I have an uncle who derives the same pleasure from telling a good story. While he hammers away at his Dvorak keyboard to stretch the recollection of a standard bike ride in which nobody even got hurt into a 4-page email, however, I tend to cram my experiences into 140-character status updates. If he's writing a ballad, my work is a limerick at best. I'm not sure whether this is the difference between a Berkley English major and a UW com student or a generational thing; chances are it's a combination of both.

Admittedly, the above quote is from my facebook page. While there are a couple doozies on there, it makes me a little sad that facebook tends to be my only outlet for writing or sharing experiences these days.

Maybe someday I'll consistently join my uncle in the ranks of polished and long-winded writers. Likewise, I may stop reading the MLIA and finish Anna Karenina; look at Twitter less and read more editorials; and perhaps sit through all of Monday Night Football rather than just SportsCenter's Top Plays.

Hahahahaha. Like I make time to watch sports! I crack myself up. Goodnight.

'Nuff Said.

Last night my mother was scrolling through the recent calls in our phone and looked up at me with concern and bewilderment etched into her face.
"It says that Papa, Uncle Dana and Grandpa all called. . . there must be a family emergency."

It's not as though I don't care for my family, but I just looked up at my mom without the slightest bit of alarm. . . wait for it.

My mother's a pretty smart cookie. If her heart skipped a beat, it was only for a moment. "Oh wait, I'm in the phonebook." Bingo.

I've totally made the same mistake, wondering why the entire Albert family would have called--and in alphabetical order no less. So although some of the previous generation's ventures into the information age have been pretty funny, in this instance, I don't really have the right to laugh at my mom. So I'll stick it on my blog, instead. . . she'll have to find it, first.

It's my parent's anniversary! So here's the cake. . .You gotta admit, I'm pretty handy with an old Ziplock bag and some frosting.Can you identify everybody?

During an extremely labor-intensive psych class last quarter, I read an article called "Are You Addicted to Stress?"

The answer was obvious. Well, Duh. Aren't most Americans? If the American dream once was a cozy house, a family, an automobile and maybe a television, how much more complex is it now? As far as I can tell, my life is still not complete: I do no have an iphone, I'm only involved in one sport, I'm not earning scholarships fast enough, I only get to go out with my friends 3 nights a week. But, by golly, I'm going to work my butt of, so that someday, I will be able to schedule a busy and accomplished life into my iPhone.

But then I watched a Nooma video called Noise, followed by one called Shells. Good stuff. A good question was raised. When have you actually showed down, taken out your iPod, disconnected the Internet, turned your cellphone off and actually saught peace, actually pursued quiet, and actually persue God? In the next video, we're asked about all the good things we're doing, all the extra little activities that fill up the nooks and crannies in our schedules--book clubs, facebook, relationships, your hip-hop class, a yoga class twice a week. Is it possible that these all these scattered good things are keeping us from pursuing that Best Thing, from fulfilling the purpose for which God gave us this life in the first place? Maybe slowing down, recharging and therefor having the energy to wholeheartedly pursue the one or two things you love is better thans scrambling to fulfill the 43 engagements you're scribbled into your planner this week.

These are questions to ponder, but questions I feel I considered much too late. I just finished the quarter from hell: 3 difficult 5-credit classes, 2 other 2-credit classes; 6 hours of dance a week and 2 hours of teaching dance; memorizing and quizzing on 4 books of the Bible, and travelling to Minneapolis in the middle of a school quarter; being on the leadership teams for both Bible Quizzing and 2 youth groups I'm involved in; 2, maybe 3 Bible studies. . . Needless to say, the weeks were just packed.

And I survived. Kept my 4.0 at the college all year; danced 7 routines in the spring recital and did a pretty darn good job; placed in the top 7 for quizzing, and my team placed 6th at the national tournament; I saw God's impact in the lives of dozens of youth I'd been serving on both leadership teams. . .Needless to say, the blessings were just packed in.

But I'm realizing that something has to give. It always does, doesn't it? I went from being a social butterfly with a few extracurricular activities to a rather beotchy type-A overachiever with a packed list of credentials. A LONELY type-A overachiever clutching to her unending to-do list.

Then, while watching the second Nooma video, I realized something: that one thing, or Best Thing in my life is people. From helping and loving people is where I used to gather my joy and strength. Connecting, helping, communicating, loving--these are my spiritual gifts. That is what i should be doing. That is my act of worship.


So as I try to figure my life out for my last year at Whatcom, probably my last year with my family, and my last year as a kid, really, I'm bracing myself to let go of 43 little things, and getting ready to pursue the few big things that will let me more fully seek God. I like challenges, I like accomplishing things. This won't be easy, but it will be good. . .

(Click to enlarge)

Curfew that night was a shoking 11pm. I came in and found this at 11:05
Good stuff.

Let Them Eat Cake

You've heard the prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread." But until recently, it had never dawned on me that if you ask God, he can and will take it literally.

Once, sometimes twice, a week, my mom drives up to Ferndale to collect produce to take to the Lighthouse Mission. They're not damaged, just ready to be replaced with whatever fruits and vegetables have just been shipped. The opportunity to help the Mission is nice, but also sweet is that we end up with boxes of leftover veggies.

For a little while, we also received these grab bags of old artisan bread. They were totally random, and you had to cut into the bread to figure out just what kind each loaf was, and the loaves at the bottom were often demolished. We'd fight over the sourdough, and eat the rest over the week. (Oh, we'd also receive brownies and cakes from the baker. Sugar rush!)

The bread stopped coming, though, when Haggen decided to slice, bad and label it. Yes, there was weeping and gnashing of teeth. More like rotting of teeth, since the cakes and other pastries were still coming.

But, things just keep getting better! I came home to a counter buried in sliced, labeled, and bagged bread. And cake. And fruit. Oh, and veggies. Life is filling!

Do you see this? Do you SEE this??
This, THIS, is what happens to award winning papers at the Albert house.Before beginning its aeronautical career, what you see here was an award-winning essay. The essay my English teacher had asked to keep as an example for future students.I'm glad she has a copy, because I certainly found mine, crash-landed in the wastepaper basket. Here's hoping that, despite my sibling's complete disrespect for the the written word, he ends up working for Boeing.