IKEA Made in Europe

One thing I’ve learned about Europe is IKEA is a big deal. Practically every country I’ve visited since September has an IKEA. I’ve slept in IKEA beds, read by the light of IKEA lamps, and drank from numerous IKEA glasses of all shapes and sizes.

The tagline at the bottom of each glass, “IKEA – Made in Bulgaria, or Turkey, or France,” has become a comfort of home. Odd – yes – as in the U.S. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve stepped through IKEA’s doors into the warehouse-style shopping Mecca. It’s big and cheap, which let’s be honest is the American way, yet it doesn’t have the presence in the U.S. like it does in Europe.

How could a store, which I have not actually been to in Europe (ironically), be a sign of home? I’ve come to the conclusion that home is relative. It’s a feeling. A comfort. It’s people. But it’s not a place.

I’ve been happy to be at home in many countries but it has nothing to do with the country itself, or the bed I sleep in, the lamp I read by, or the glass I drink from. It’s the people. How enormously blessed I am to have “homes” around the world. When the people you serve and work with are family, well home becomes where they are, not just a building or a bed.

“Home is where the heart is” is perhaps one of the worst clichés, but for these last two months I thank God it’s true. 

Gate Crashing an Epic Party

You may not know what ‘gate crashing’ is but that is 100% what I did at the U.S.-sent leadership meeting a couple of weeks ago. I happened to be in the same place at the same time, so obviously the most logical thing to do was invite myself to leadership meetings, which I had no place in and really no right to be at.

Now, if my life was a 80s high school movie, I’d be the loveable nerd who gate crashed the party and got kicked out as soon as I was discovered by the popular kids, probably after being publically embarrassed in some way. I thank God my org is not high school and instead of being shunned like the nerd I am, I was embraced with open arms and practically force-fed chocolate (not torture by any means.)

Me, a minion in the cog of the great organization, was welcomed a peer. This may have been amazing, and I may have taken a few pictures here and there, but the true blessing was listening to the stories of the Lord’s work around the world. I sat there, basking in HIS glory because of timing and the welcoming arms of my colleagues.

I could have easily been swept aside, treated as an outcast, but I was welcomed into the inner circle, my opinion and perceptions were even shared with the group by the ‘commander and chief’ of the org. Me, a small piece of the working machine, had a voice. Who wouldn’t want to a part of a company like that?

Moral of my story – crash more parties. You might be surprised by the welcome you get.