Forgiving Judas

I’ve been worried lately that people may be tired of hearing about how hard this year has been for me; tired of hearing me talk about forgiveness and the peace it has brought me. I apologize if I’ve come off sounding preachy. It hasn’t been my intent. I’m a passionate person and get excited about things that mean a lot to me. You should see me when I go birding! I scream and squeal and excitedly hyperventilate, then love telling those who will let me nerd out to them all about it. What I have learned about forgiveness has been life-changing for me, and the peace it has given me has been truly instrumental in my survival—and joy—this past year, so I’ve been, perhaps overly, excited about it and wanting to share. This poem I recently wrote means a great deal to me. I hope it might mean something to someone else too.

Forgiving Judas
by Tacy Gibbons

I’d been betrayed before. 
This one hurt the worst.

I wonder if Peter, James, John
and the other disciples
followed Christ’s commandment to forgive.
Did they forgive the man
who sold their teacher, their friend—
the Son of God Himself—
for thirty pieces of silver?

Have I forgiven him?

Maybe God won’t.
He doesn’t have to.
But we are commanded to forgive all.

I’d been betrayed before.
Lied to, manipulated.
I’d even been stabbed in the heart.

This time was the worst.

But I had already battled demons
and wrestled with monsters.
The flames of fire that licked at my skin
did not burn me.
They refined and rebuilt me.
More resilient than I was before.

I still love you.
I forgive you—
and Judas.
I will let the Master take care of the rest.

Wonder Woman

Here is a personal essay I wrote:

Wonder Woman has a great job. Top tier. Management. And she kicks ass at it!

She’s also an amazing mom—a single mom, at that. Even with work, she’s able to volunteer in her kid’s classes, go on field trips, help with homework, take them to lessons, go to performances and competitions. She’s incredibly supportive and always there for them. The rock of the family.

Wonder Woman takes care of the house, too. She cleans the bathroom, dusts the bookshelf, washes the dishes, cooks dinner, does the laundry. The house is spotless. At least, most of the time!

And the yard looks fabulous! Wonder Woman mows the huge lawn, pulls the many weeds and trims the various bushes, front, side and back.

Oh, and she even makes time for self-care. Pursues hobbies, engages in interests, relaxes here and there. She makes sure to serve and help others, too, because it makes her feel so good inside.

Wonder Woman does it all! She has it all! She is Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman must exist. It’s who everyone builds their expectations off of, right? Maybe there is a single mom out there who is able to do absolutely everything all on her own and still be strong and happy.

I am not Wonder Woman.

So the next time you ask me if I’ve gotten a job yet (because it’s usually the first thing everyone asks), the answer is still no. My worth is not determined on my ability to solely provide for my kids. And they need me more than a job needs me. I need them more than any of us need me to have a job.

My kids help around the house, and we do our best, but most days the kitchen is dirty, dishes are piled in the sink, my bed is littered with odds and ends and there is dust settled on the bookshelf.

The next time you go past my yard and see how out of control it is don’t think it’s because I don’t care. I do. I do as much as I can before my chronic pain becomes unbearable. Sometimes I can mow the whole, big lawn. Sometimes I can only pull a few weeds. And then I stand beneath the hot water in the shower and cry—at the pain and the feeling of failing.

Every once in a while, I take time for myself. It’s not easy to find, but I have to. Not because I’m lazy, but because I know what it’s like to be trapped in the chains of depression and despair. I have to do what I can to keep my mental health strong so I can keep being there for my kids. They deserve a mom who is happy and healthy. I deserve to be happy and healthy.

Wonder Woman may be out there. Maybe there are a lot of her. I am not Wonder Woman. I am just me.

The Unexpected

I don’t remember when I first came across Jillian Benfield’s book The Gift of the Unexpected. I am sure it sat in my Amazon Wish List for at least a year, maybe two, before I finally purchased it. It appealed to me, originally, because it’s, in part, a story about a woman with a child who has a disability. I have a child who is autistic, which came with all kinds of challenges in life that were unexpected. I finally bought it because of another life-altering, unexpected circumstance.

I think most of us go through the unexpected multiple times—even the unexpected in extreme measure. At the end of each chapter, Benfield poses questions. I’ve had a hard time answering some of them because I’ve already learned a lot of the lessons she’s trying to convey from all of the other unexpected or hard things I’ve been through in life. I feel like the furnace of affliction has refined me into someone who is more resilient. Not perfect, not without flaws, emotions, weakness or difficulties, but resilience and a belief in who I am. I am a child of God, and He is the one who has given me peace and strength.

Yet, I realized that there is more to this most recent unexpected event that a single person, a single betrayal, a single event. What has been the most unexpected is how others have reacted to it. The person who said they would text or call to check up on me every day, who never did because they thought I was making the wrong choice. The person who said they would remain a friend no matter what—because that’s what friends do, then abandoned us when they learned what they thought was the truth (without actually getting the real story). The people who say they love and care, throw a few bucks at us, then say, “Well, it’s not my fault.” The people who testify of Christ-like love, forgiveness and compassion, then have a million excuses as to why they don’t have to live any of those beliefs in this particular circumstance. Those are the unexpected events that I am struggling with. Those are the unexpected events that are taking a toll and challenging me and my beliefs in humanity. And those are the unexpected events that are gifting me even more resilience and resolve to truly live my beliefs, to become a better person and transform into who God knows I can be.

In her book, Benfield writes, “It took losing what once was to birth the beauty that now is.” I have lost friends and family. But were they really friends and family in the first place? If at the first sign of the unexpected they, not only bailed, but left destruction in their wake? I often go back to Shinedown’s song Daylight. “It’s amazing what the hard times can reveal. Like who shows up, who walks away and who’s for real.” I know who’s real. And I know who isn’t. And I can see the beauty of God and life more clearly now because of it. The unexpected is teaching me to rely more on the Savior and the people I know are going to still be here even when life is hard and the unexpected storm is raging. It reminds me of this picture a friend of mine gave me of the Savior reaching out to someone who is drowning. Sometimes we do drown. And Christ is always there extending a hand to help pull us out.

We can be that hand, too. Despite the pain of learning how many people aren’t really what they pretend to be, I’ve also seen God’s hand lifting and strengthening me and my little family through others who are true examples of what I want to emulate. One of the questions Benfield asks is, “Who do I want to become?” I want to become someone who makes a difference in the world—even if the world is nothing more than my own children and husband. Who do you want to become? And what gifts have you found through the unexpected?

Having Joy

Sometimes I feel like laughing hysterically when I say this past year has been the hardest of my life because it doesn’t even begin to describe just how hard the past eight months have actually been. Hard. Difficult. Struggle. Trial. Hell. None of those words can even remotely get close to describing what it’s been like or the fact that it keeps getting harder. Every time I feel like I can come up for air, another wave hits and pulls me back under where I’m suffocating and trying not to drown.

At the same time, I’ve had more joy in the past eight months than I’ve ever had in my entire life. Because yes— hard, difficult, struggling, hellish beyond description and joy can—and do—coexist.

There are times when there really is a reprieve. Where I do surface and get some air. And even beneath the surface I’ve found strength and peace in many different ways, including God and Christ, my children, my husband, others around me, music and more. Some days I really do feel like I’m doing okay. Other days I feel like I’m drowning. The past couple of days have been like that. Through encouragement and help I started feeling a little better.

Then last night my daughter called me from her dad’s house to tell me she had left her band music at my house. I told her I would bring it over to her, so she wouldn’t have to stop by in the morning on her way to school. I got in the car, rolled the windows down and cranked some Shinedown. Like I cranked it! And I belted out the lyrics with them as I drove. It felt so good! I felt like myself. This was meaningful because I’ve been feeling lost lately, not sure who I am anymore, questioning my worth and value. Then, when I got home, I went in the back yard and jumped on the tramp while continuing to sing. (Sorry neighbors!) I chased my dogs around the back yard and felt exhilarated!

Is the hard gone? No. Is it getting easier? No. Have all my problems and worries vanished? No. Is the depression and anxiety that often comes with the hellish struggle leaving? No. Did I experience pure joy last night rocking out and acting like a kid? Yes. Yes, I did.

I still have worries. Things are looking pretty dire right now, and I know there are many challenges ahead. Those are two lines I’m sure all of us could say right now, could have said a few days ago or will be able to say in a few weeks from now. Life is hard. It’s hard for everyone. And there is also joy. Sometimes we just have to make it happen.

We Are More Than the Crash

Last weekend I saw the movie Gran Turismo. Great movie, highly recommend. It had an interesting storyline with a plot that moved, well-developed characters, highs and lows that had me both laughing and near tears. It was more than a movie about chasing your dreams or overcoming the odds. It was about how we choose to define ourselves—and how we choose to define others.

The part that meant the most to me (tiny spoiler alert) was when Jack Salter tells Jann Mardenborough something like, “That crash won’t define who you are, but how you respond to it will.”

How often do we get stuck on the things we’ve done wrong? How often do we choose to define someone by a single mistake they made? It’s like looking at the world through a pinprick on a piece of paper rather than seeing the whole, big, full picture.

I know I have been guilty of this in the past, but through the flames and fire, bombs and boulders I’ve been through this past year I am learning to put down a narrow scope of vision and see people for all they are, not just one mistake—or even a hundred mistakes. I know I don’t want to be judged or defined that way. Rather than being defined by the “crash” I’d rather be defined by the way I respond to it.

I write this for myself, to continue to remind myself. I write this for one I love who has had far too many people who have chosen to see him through that pinprick rather than as the whole picture; people who have chosen to define him by the crash rather than the way he has responded to it—hard work, dedication, change and a determination to continue to do and be better. I write this for others, hopeful that my words may have sparked a desire to see others, and themselves, for more than the thing or things they’ve done wrong. We are so much more, and we can bring so much more love, hope and beauty to the world when we choose to do this.

Outside the Box

Outside the Box
by Tacy Gibbons

Black and white.
Day and night.
Dark and light.
Step outside the box.

Colors vibrant.
Skies of violet.
No more confinement.
Living outside the box.

Good or bad.
Happy or sad.
Sane or mad.
Step outside the box.

Different truths in life.
Joy even in strife.
Being alive.
It’s all outside the box.

I wrote a poem to show how beautiful and amazing life is outside the box—to show there is joy outside the box. I think most people live inside a box. I know I did for many years. Sadly, this past year I have seen dozens of people who have spent their whole lives testifying of beliefs that, once challenged, failed to stand by them. People who claimed to believe in forgiveness who found an excuse not to forgive. People who thought they believed in compassion who refused to give it to someone who they didn’t like. People who testified time and time again of Christ, then conveniently forgot His teachings and turned away from those in need, just like the priest and Levite in the parable of the Good Samaritan.

Now, I’m not perfect. I too, at times, have had a black and white and either/or view of the world and life. Blessedly, I have also been inspired this past year by a few individuals who have stood by their beliefs and helped me grow into someone I never knew existed. They are people who live outside the box, seeing beauty in the various vibrant colors in between the black and white. They are people who are true examples of Christ-like love. For that, I am incredibly grateful.

The thing is, most people probably think they are living outside the box. I did. It has been the choices I’ve had to make in the midst of explosions that could break me that helped me see there was even more out there. Even more I could become. Even more of the world to experience in all it’s agony and beauty.

Poems and Vulnerability

In her book The Gift of the Unexpected Jillian Benfield says, “Vulnerability is not weakness. It takes tremendous amounts of courage to be vulnerable with others and even to ourselves . . . Vulnerability is required for us to live wholeheartedly as ourselves.”

The world tells us otherwise. The world tells us vulnerability is weakness. It tells us to put up a good front. It has changed the meaning of, “How are you doing?” to simply mean, “Hello,” rather than, “I actually care about you and truly want to know how you are doing whether it’s good or bad.” The world tells us to buck up, deal with it and get over it. I, however, add my belief to Jillian Benfield’s. Vulnerability is not weakness. It really does take courage, and it does help us live as our true selves.

I don’t believe that being vulnerable means opening the door to complain about anything and everything. It’s about be open and honest—either with someone else or even just ourselves—about the difficult and painful parts of our lives. This whole blog is me opening myself up in the hopes that my vulnerability will speak to someone else, will help someone else, will make a difference to someone else—if even one person. I’m being vulnerable again by sharing a couple of poems I wrote recently. I told my husband I felt ashamed after writing them, because I felt like I was being whiney and ungrateful. He told me it wasn’t ungrateful to have dreams or struggle when I wonder if they’ll ever happen. As I look back, I do see dreams that have been fulfilled. Going to Hawaii. Playing in a performance group again. Going to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame. That one had been a dream for over twenty years! Remembering this has given me some hope. I do think we can be grateful and also have times of struggle. Both can coexist. Both can be true at the same time.

Dreams
by Tacy Gibbons

Maybe dreams are only meant for those with means.
Oh, I know the platitudes—
“Dreams do come true,
you just have to make them happen!”

But what if that involves sacrificing something more valuable?
Then the dream isn’t really worth it, is it?

And yet, how do you burn something
bred from the most colorful and creative depths of your soul?
How do you forget the child you used to be?

I wrote this poem in my journal. Afterward, I wrote, “It feels unfinished, but that’s how I want it to feel. It’s how I feel. Unanswered. Unsure. Unfinished.

Someday
by Tacy Gibbons

Travel the world. Someday.
Publish a novel. Someday.
Take my kids on a humanitarian trip. Someday.
Go birding to distant locations. Someday.
Buy a new, updated camera. Someday.

Someday, someday, someday.
Does it ever become today?
Or does it hang above the horizon,
always out of reach,
no matter how fast you run toward it?

Someday.

Do you think you can be grateful even while struggling with thoughts of dreams and hopes of someday?

Sometimes We Still Need Help

Sometimes, when we see people smiling, laughing, seemingly having it all together we assume they do have it all together.

Sometimes, when we’ve given service to or helped someone in need we assume they’ve taken that help and are all good. We’ve done our part, they’ve done theirs, and they don’t need anything else.

Sometimes, when people stop talking about their struggles or “enough” time has gone by we assume life has gotten easier for them, and we don’t have to think or worry about them.

Sometimes, it may be true. Often times, it’s not.

As someone who’s lived with depression the majority of my life, I can tell you that there are still moments of genuine smiles, laughter and happiness. That doesn’t mean we have it all together. And even when we are happy or doing good emotionally, it doesn’t mean things have gotten any easier or we should be left alone. This year has been the hardest of my life—and I have had more joy than I’ve ever had. And things have only gotten harder.

I’ve learned that even when things are good, or seem good, it always makes a difference to have someone who checks in—someone who genuinely wants to know how we’re doing. I’ve learned that even when I have been the recipient of service and gotten help from others, I still can’t do everything on my own. And that is hard to admit. It’s hard to ask for help. If I do, will others think I’m just lazy? Will they judge me for not even trying? Are they going to think I need to just get over it? Am I going to appear weak and incapable? I’ve learned that even when I may not think I need help, help is always good and always makes a difference.

Luckily, I have been blessed with a few people who do continue to check in, provide service and help out—even when I haven’t asked for it. I’m so grateful for their love and for their example.

Not all struggles, difficulties, trials are short-lived things that should be easy to overcome. Some last months, years, or even an entire lifetime, and some people could really benefit from extended love and help. It’s hard to admit. It’s hard to share. And we can do hard things.

Daughter of Phoenix

I wanted to do something special for my kids before they go back to school–their first day is tomorrow. My son has gotten really into transformers. He’ll spend hours a day transforming them back and forth. I found one he wanted that was actually affordable, so I got that for him, which he has loved! For my daughter, 16, going into 11th grade, I wrote a poem. It may not mean a lot to her now, but I hope it will someday. My words are my soul, especially in the form of a poem, so it was a piece of me I gave her. She is an amazing human being! She’s resilient, kind, loving, accepting, compassionate, forgiving, quirky, funny, passionate, and just all around amazing. Here is the poem I wrote for her (in Haiku style):

Daugher of Phoenix
by Tacy Gibbons

Strong and resilient,
beautiful beyond measure,
daughter of Phoenix.

The fires that rage
do not destroy, only
refine. Born from the

ashes. Rising up
in brilliance; glory. She is
daughter of Phoenix.

Waiting with Joy

I wrote this poem two months ago, but it’s how I’ve been feeling this past week.

Waiting
by Tacy Gibbons

Another bomb hits,
another boulder in my pack.
Sometimes I just want to give up.

I lift myself out of the hole,
sift through the rubble,
know I have to carry on—
and carry those around me.

I want to get up,
want to keep going.
I know I will.
But sometimes the weight is too heavy,
and I’m tired of always having to be the strong one.

Sometimes the darkness is too thick,
and I can’t stand the bumps and bruises
of stumbling around so blindly.

I get up.

I stumble on.

I wait for the next bomb to drop.

Honestly, most of the last several weeks I’ve felt so much peace and joy. It’s not because things are getting easier. They aren’t. This one in particular struggle, difficulty, trial (whatever you want to call it) is still going on (has been for six months now), and there’s no end in sight. It doesn’t get easier. It gets harder. And there have been more hard things that keep piling on. I’ve never been through such fire and flame in my life. Yet, I’ve felt more joy than I ever have before. And I’m still struggling. I still get overwhelmed. I still cry. I still need help. And just the past week, the stress and weight seems to have caught up, and I’m feeling off. I’m feeling this poem I wrote two months ago. Just waiting for the next bomb to go off, the next boulder to drop—and also trying my best to keep doing the things that have brought me joy in the midst of the hardest trial I’ve ever been through.