Pilgrimage

This weekend we went to IKEA.

If you're a British husband, this 4 letter word can strike fear into your heart.

Why did we go? Because my youngest daughter needs a new bed and contrary to what you might think, only IKEA seems to have the right beds. In my opinion they have very nice beds at the local Furniture Village 2 miles away, but no, it has to be to IKEA.

Our "local" IKEA is 30 miles away, a part of a huge shopping complex that serves as a Retail Mecca for millions. It provides hours of "fun": queuing on the roads, endless browsing, queuing for bite to eat, more browsing, queuing at the tills, and finally, with the day mostly over, the long drive home with thousands of fellow shoppers. And then to add insult to injury, there awaits the hours of frustration as I try to assemble my purchases from the very compact flat packs with obscure instructions that seem to be for completely different products!

So why do I regale you with my tale of woe? Because something unusual happened.

In preparation for our pilgrimage and the anticipated purchase of a fine, and dare I say it, unique IKEA bed, I had to put the roof bars on our car and look for our binding straps. I have a wonderful collection of such straps, accumulated over the years because I constantly misplace them and have to buy new ones. Yet, once again, the blessed straps were missing.

I searched "everywhere" in our garage, through heaps and heaps of chaos. Eventually I gave up in disgust, resigned myself to yet another strap purchase, and turned to exit the garage. As I turned, there was an almighty crash behind me as a basket tumbled from the top of one of our chaotic heaps to the ground. I turned around patiently, thanked God for giving me the opportunity to grow, bent to pick the basket up, only to find it full of my missing straps!

Now you would be within your rights to attribute this to blind chance, as improbable as it is, but I would like today to thank my God for the little things in life.