Ikea is not hell. Purgatory? Maybe.

Every time I go to Ikea I can smell the heavenly scent of cinnamon rolls baking and I intend to get one. But after rolling through the store like a Swedish meatball in the oxymoronic maze-like chaos of knocked-down organizers, and then standing in line behind the dregs of society (and their whining offspring) to check out, I can't find the door fast enough. By that time all I want is fresh air to save me from the cinnamon stench.

But this time I was determined. Like a badge of honor I had earned my cinnamon roll! And I was getting one!!! Even Steve's you've-got-to-be-kidding--I'm-not-standing-in-another-line expression didn't faze me.

"You load up the car," I commanded. "I'll get the rolls."

"Rolls?" he queried with an emphasis on the s as he gave me that raised eyebrow look. (Yeah, right. Like he isn't going to eat 4 of them before the night's over...)

"Yes, it's a special deal. Six for $4." After all, if you're going to dedicate another fifteen minutes of your life, you might as well get a six-pack of fresh-from-the-oven goodness, right?

Only one snackbar guy manned the bank of five cash registers, because, I guess, management thought not many customers would be hungry or thirsty at 4 on a Saturday afternoon. The line hadn't moved in at least 10 minutes and I could feel Steve's heated impatience all the way from inside our car in the parking lot. 

So there we stood. The scowling lady in front of me in the jog pants she should have thrown out two sizes ago, who insisted on pushing her cart through the line even though it obviously wouldn't fit. She kept looking down at my comfy, shopping-at-big-box-store flip-flops as though they weren't appropriate for January. And the high-strung woman behind me with her oversized recycle bag of Ikea crapola slung over her shoulder, hitting me in the back as she fidgeted. Her bag bumped me one more time, and as I turned to give her my most loathsome glare, I stopped, taking a deep breath. 

"Wait a minute," I thought to myself. "This isn't the way a Christian is supposed to act." (I'm new at this Christian thing so I have to talk myself through challenging situations now.) "Why am I so agitated and judgmental of these poor souls around me? Aren't we all here for the same reason...bonded together by pressed particle board and cinnamon?"

So instead of my mean look, I said, "Boy, you've got a lot of good stuff. Ikea  always gets me on those impulse purchases I can't live without." She laughed and apologized for her bag, and told me about the great buy she got on canvas cubbies.

Then I explained to the lady in front of me how I was always determined to get a cinnamon roll, but then lost my will (to live) by the end. But not this time! She laughed and said she knew exactly what I meant. Then she pointed out they had just delivered a fresh batch from the kitchen and I would want to get my box from the left stack. What a nice, helpful lady! 

Instead of the hellish vibe surrounding us only moments before, we were suddenly enveloped with comradery and a simple kind of joy. We were chatting and laughing and soon I was headed for the door with a warm box of rolls in my arms.

 I've reflected on that scene at Ikea several times since. Was this instantaneous shift in the atmosphere some kind of magic? Had I experienced a miracle? No, not really. It was a conscious choice I made--that anyone can make! The King taught me to choose joy instead of despair. And (as my added bonus) it seemed like the attitudes of others around me also changed. 

I was no longer judgmental and impatient, but actually felt a kinship and yes, even love for my fellow humans as we waited for our reward.

"Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, 

bearing with one another in love. 

Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit 

through the bond of peace."

Ephesians 4:2

Side note: Ikea cinnamon rolls are just so-so and definitely not worth the calories or 15 minutes of your life.