They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, sadness, bargaining and acceptance.  I know I have studied about it along the way.  I know I have experienced it somewhere before this Great Event.  I somehow, do not remember it being so fierce.  

We left a shack.  When I say "shack," I mean a Laura Ingles Wilder, shack in the middle of 65 acres.  We are now in a relatively newly constructed home.  The shack was built in 1843.  This house is 2004, maybe. The contrast between the two is drastic.  We moved the Saturday before Christmas.  It was traumatic.  The whole experience has left me spinning.  

I have this innate response that when people ask me how I am doing to say "Good!" with all enthusiasm that makes them believe I am okay and not to inquire further.  They ask, "how's the new house?" and I respond, "it is still being unpacked, but great!"  They laugh and leave me alone.  This is my denial.  It is my most powerful weapon.  It is my great lie.  On some level, I believe no one wants to know the truth, most importantly:me.  

I rationalize that the move is a step up: why should I be experiencing grief?  Stop the whining.  God gave me this amazing Christmas gift of a better place to live while in the existence of this world of flesh.  Shut...up.  It is a good thing.  

Denial is a beast.  

I justify that people are experiencing death, dismemberment or tragedy of global proportions.  There is nothing wrong with moving from one home to another comparatively.  

Denial the dinosaur.  

I have to concede to my innermost self a rigorously honest response.  Gratitude is important.  Gratitude is an action.  Gratitude is my goal.  Today honesty is the spiritual principle I have to dig out.  If I am honest - moving is hard, it is a major change for me; it is something I am grieving.  

Dear God, help me to be rigorously honest with myself and others. Relieve me of this burden of self.  Amen