At the Taipei Airport

I'm sitting in this ultra modern, chic transfer area, which styled in shades of grey and taupe, with white stamping of birch trees on the wall. Everything is rounded and retro-modern.

Today I am thankful.  I am thankful that I will see my family in a few hours, that we will jump up and down and hug each other.  I'm thankful that we were able to spend time with Cate in Bangkok.  I'm thankful that I'm traveling with this big amoeba-like mass of children who are my own, wriggling and crawling over everything.

For a small magnolia farm, glimpsed through tall buildings on the way to the airport this morning. For inflight movies and the peace they so technologically enforce. For comfy seating.

For the gift of these two years away, for the simplification, the self denial, the way I've been shaped into a tougher person.

Psalm 116 talks about a sacrifice of thanksgiving, which is a funny kind of sacrifice, except when you think that perhaps sacrifice is something that doesn't just pour out, but something you have to rustle around in your deep pockets for.  In my case, it's not that I'm unthankful, but that I'm preoccupied by so many questions.  Nothing stills my heart like sacrifice; the pebbles I take out and smooth in between my fingers.

One random thing:  Nori-flavored potato chips are a new favorite thing. The best chips ever, chips from heaven.  I'm thankful for them, too.  And flip-flops and my two new comfy t-shirts and water when you're really, really thirsty.  And anything green. And a few hours in an airport to simmer down and contemplate.  (And chase after Solo.)