IKEA.
Don't get me wrong, I love IKEA.
Their style is fashionable.
Their prices beat down all their competitors.
Did you know they provide childcare, so you can shop without your crazy children?
The shopping carts are nothing short of inspirational. All four wheels swivel so you can literally push those babies in any direction. I always give mine a Swedish girl's name like Agnes.
The men's bathroom offers lotion. Do I use lotion? No. But heck, when in Rome.
The food is even good. Yes, the meatballs had horse in them. But I honestly learned something new about myself: horse with jam, a little gravy, and mashed potatoes is pretty darn good.
My wife and two daughters love IKEA. Every time we go my wife falls off the grid. She hands me her phone and takes off running with her coffee. Next time we go, I'm going to put a leash on her. (No disrespect meant.)
However, if you've ever put together a piece of furniture from the Swedish store, you know why I believe more than ever in intelligent design.
First, the name IKEA has to be derived from the Roman numerals which stands for how many parts are going to come in the box. If it requires assembly, it means that you are going to have a brief moment of panic when you first open the box that may or may not include tears.
Second, they don't label anything and the directions do not use words. The dresser I put together had like forty different pieces of wood and twenty-nine different types of screws. It looked like it had over 1,000 parts. And all they give you is pictures!
If putting together a dresser has that many parts and can be that confusing, then there's no way that the earth is here by random accident. Someone had to know what they were doing. Creation needs a Creator. Something made has to have a Maker.
I will say that once you master the directions, it isn't too difficult to put together a piece of IKEA furniture. By too difficult I mean tears and Christian cuss words were at a minimal.
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