Thank You for bringing me here

I've been trying a different approach to prayer as suggested by a book, to use a deep breath in and then a short sentence/phrase on the exhale as a prayer.  And while this isn't an entirely new concept (Nehemiah models this as one style of prayer), this morning something strange came out.

"Thank You for bringing me here."

Now, the strangeness for me is not in recognition of God bringing me here.  I feel like whenever I speak of the subject of being in the Jacksonville area, I point to God's plan (sometimes vaguely, sometimes specifically), but then in the same breath I often say that I would not choose to be here.  You don't move to Jacksonville- you end up in Jacksonville.

So that's where the strangeness is.  Gratitude for where I'm at.  It's a small shift, and maybe over the past few years this sentiment has grown to where it is now being expressed, but to go from "God brought me here" to "thank God He brought me here" rocked my world a little bit.  I'm sure I've been openly thankful for friends that I've made, or opportunities that have arisen because of my life circumstances, but the acknowledgement of it as an all inclusive package from a God Who cares about big and little details and gives both what we need and what are gifts that we probably never would have thought to ask for. . .

Related, a Psalm:

Psalm 11 (MSG)
I’ve already run for dear life straight to the arms of God.  So why would I run away now when you say, “Run to the mountains; the evil bows are bent, the wicked arrows aimed to shoot under cover of darkness at every heart open to God.  The bottom’s dropped out of the country; good people don’t have a chance”?
But God hasn’t moved to the mountains; his holy address hasn’t changed. He’s in charge, as  always, his eyes taking everything in, his eyelids unblinking, examining Adam’s unruly brood inside and out, not missing a thing.  He tests the good and the bad alike; if anyone cheats, God’s outraged.  Fail the test and you’re out, out in a hail of firestones, drinking from a canteen filled with hot desert wind.
God’s business is putting things right; he loves getting the lines straight, setting us straight. Once we’re standing tall, we can look him straight in the eye.