I Will Wait

On this night exactly one year ago, my life took a drastic, unexpected (but hoped for) turn.

July 5, 2013

After a 4th of July spent indoors all by myself, other than the company of a cat named Miles and gorgeous goldy, Holly, I was aching to spend a night out on the town with a girlfriend. Like most Friday nights, I texted Christi to join up with me at our usual spot, The Rattle Inn. I had every intention to set up camp on that rooftop bar, have a drink, maybe (most likely) two, and watch the sun set over our magnificent city. Then, I would call it a successful night and go home around 9pm. I was tired, but content.

Then Matt texted me.

April 2012
A little back story that's not widely known. Matt and I went on our "first" first date a little over two years ago. I had had a crush on him for quite a few months, but in normal guy fashion, he took his sweet little time making a move. I remember that night, when he asked me out, as if it had just happened. Filled with awkward giddiness, I said yes and immediately felt sick to my stomach with nervousness. He wouldn't tell me what we were doing, just told me generalities on what to wear. I showed up that evening with nervous anticipation of either the night ending well or horribly awkward. He told me that the first activity on the date's agenda was kayaking. This was something I had mentioned before around friends, so the fact that he remembered or took note of it was quite impressive. My second surprise on the agenda was the viewing of "Titanic" at Alamo Drafthouse, yet another thing I had casually mentioned before in my excitement of the re-release in theaters. The night was one of my top ten nights ever and by far the best first date I had ever experienced. Even still, things didn't seem completely right. A week later, our "kind of" second date was at a BBQ he and his roommate were throwing. Another fun night was had, but it ended with my decision to just stay friends at the moment. I had the hardest time explaining it to him since my heart wanted to follow my emotions of really liking this boy, but my instincts felt the timing was off for no good, explainable reason.

Two months later, daddy died.

Things were becoming clearer for me a few months after his death. I knew Matt was a good person and felt sympathy for me during this time (I treasured the simple text he sent me that dark day containing his condolences), but I also knew that he (along with any other guy who hadn't known daddy) wouldn't truly know what to do with my strange grief. Daddy's death wasn't just about him dying, it was about so many other emotions and thoughts that occur in the child of an alcoholic; thoughts and emotions that contradict each other: relief for myself in knowing it was finally over and horrendous sadness for my loss of a father before my life truly had begun. I began to understand that gut-reaction a few months prior in saying no to a relationship. This was something I needed to close out on my own.

I stayed infatuated with this Matt Gilbert throughout the next year. Even with a couple other distractions that came and went, any time Matt came around, I was a magnet. I couldn't shake him.

As to be expected, I was filled with a flurry of butterflies once he texted me that night at the Rattle Inn. How ironic his timing of asking if anybody was up to anything that night. Of course, once I checked with my ever faithful Christi friend, I told him to join us downtown. At that moment, we both texted a few more of our friends to join up with us.

There are so many moments I can go into depth about that night. It was a hilariously fun night with our good little group (thanks to Dara and her wonderful feisty Cajun-ness). By the end of the night, it was down to me, Dara, and Matt. She so sneakily kept disappearing, forcing Matt and I to interact one-on-one. With the subtly of a Matt Gilbert, he suddenly looked me straight in the face and asked, "So, what are your intentions Ms. Montoya?"

Shock.

Fear.

Courage.

So many things ran through my head in that span of a couple seconds between his question and my answer. Honestly, I don't even remember how I answered. It happened so fast and my adrenaline was THROUGH THE ROOF. Forget butterflies in my stomach, it was a herd of elephants!

Through much debate about my hesitations (fear of rejection is really what it was), I finally conceded to my heart and went all in. I knew this was my last chance; I wouldn't get anymore after this. I couldn't keep bringing him around while holding him at arm's length distance. We would either miserably crash and burn, never being able to be friends again, or this would be the best decision of my life.

It was the latter.

July 5, 2014
In the span of a year, I have become stronger, more confident, happier, and funnier (if that was even possible). All of these things I attribute to Matt. I see his resilience and strength and am encouraged to stand up tall right next to him. He is compassionate, more-so than I ever expected. I find comfort in those moments of not being able to explain my own compassion and he is right there with me. He brings the gold out of those he interacts with. Everybody should know Matt Gilbert.

I could write for hours about the person he is and how he makes me better. Yet, words aren't even enough to describe him.


He is my best friend and more than enough inspiration to write about.

He is also a punk, but that is why he is mine.

Grief

Grief is a funny thing. It is very unpredictable, choosing to come and go as it pleases. It leaves as quickly and unexpectedly as it arrives. Just when I think I have a handle on it, another curveball is thrown my way and I realize I know very little about this thing called grief.

It’s been a year and a half since daddy died and I’m still writing about it. I know I’ll never stop processing/writing as long as I’m alive, but I hope to someday be able to venture into other topics, processes, thoughts, etc. I have a lot to say about a lot of things, but in this season, I feel the greatest urgency to write when I’m processing about daddy. There has to be a reason for that. If nothing else, I hope my words and experience(s) can encourage and bring hope to someone.

Daddy tends to show up in my dreams every now and then. He was there last night. I don’t remember very many details about the dream, but I remember the feeling of enjoying his goofy presence again with sister. I woke up missing him, but thankful for that small reminder of how it feels to hug that teddy bear of a man. I went about my morning, but as I was sitting in the awful 360 traffic, the grief instantly and unexpectedly hit me like a tidal wave. Ironically, Hillsong United’s “Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)” was playing.

“I will call upon Your name and keep my eyes above the waves when oceans rise.”

As I was attempting to sing through the lump in my throat, I felt daddy. “Brief” would be an overstatement as it was literally less than a second, faster than a blink. He was singing with me. He was worshipping with me. Then he was gone; back to being a memory and a reunion I look forward to every single day of my life. I could feel myself wanting to sink back into mourning and sadness. I just miss him so much.

Then, the “Desert Song” started playing.

“All of my life, in every season, You are still God. I have a reason to sing; I have a reason to worship.”

The Holy Spirit is funny with his reminders. I had to make the decision to choose joy. I had to choose to be thankful over pity. How could I not be thankful? I had the unconditional love of a daddy that not everybody gets to experience, a daddy who would give up his own life for his daughters. Even in the midst of all the darkness his alcoholism brought, I never once doubted his love for me. Not many people can say that, let alone, children of alcoholics. Therefore, it would be unfair to daddy’s legacy to not choose joy. I have grace to grieve when it comes over me, but I have a responsibility to choose joy and to keep choosing joy time and time again.

Grief is a funny thing, but joy is who I am.

Update

Arthur Juarez is a creeper.

A Year of Firsts

As my sister stated this morning, "today is the 365th day that my daddy's life has been absent from this world." I've been extremely aware of this day approaching in the last couple of weeks. I've also found myself trying to hold onto the pain and anger that is only natural with the death of a loved one. I felt that if the pain was still there, I'd still be honoring daddy with my tears. It's a scary balance to learn of letting go of the sadness without believing I'm letting go of daddy all together. I'm currently in the middle of this lesson on this anniversary day.

This one year mark is more than just the first anniversary of daddy's passing; it is the finale to a year of "firsts" without him: first football season, first Christmas, first birthday (his and mine), etc. One of the more significant "firsts" was the beginning of the new year. Never before had I felt such a significance in the changing of years or the feeling it brought in its new beginning. Here was a fresh start with a completely new year that my father would never see on this earth. It was a very strange and sad realization that I was beginning a year that daddy would never physically exist in, just the shadows of his memories. The thought of ending the very last year he lived in began to be overwhelming to me and I quickly yearned to turn back the clock. I didn't want that sinking feeling this realization brought, I just wanted the warmth of my daddy's goofy laugh and massive bear hugs. How could I exist in a time or in a world where daddy did not? But the Lord, in His ever faithful goodness and mercy, reminded me of the beauty in ashes and the gift there is in new beginnings. So I faced this new year with the strength only He could give me.

Today is similar to that New Year's Eve, except for the fact that today brings a new kind of relief. This year of firsts has come to an end and with it, I am experiencing a new level of the "the new normal." There is no guilt or shame in letting go of the sadness, but there is an in-explainable amount of joy in remembering the love of my father. There is a greater responsibility in carrying his mantle that we have inherited and ensuring the legacy of his giving heart lives on through us. There is joy in knowing that my boisterous laugh was passed down from him. There is joy in knowing that every day I realize how much more I am like daddy than I ever realized. There is joy in loving others the way that he loved so selflessly.

There is always joy.

My Superman and His Cape

Growing up, daddy was superman. He was strong, funny, and loving. Daddy had no problem completely embarrassing my sister and me with his goofiness in front of our friends. Our response was always whiny protesting and begging him to stop, but secretly loving it because our friends loved him for it. Of course, we would never admit to this in front of him. He taught us that friends will come and go, but we will always have each other. He taught us to say "mmm, mmm, thank you daddy" when he cooked something or took us to a restaurant that we complained about before even trying. He was the kind of father that dropped everything to drive four hours late at night to where I was because my heart had just been broken. He was the typical dad that wanted to be cleaning his gun when a new guy came over to take me on a date. But at some point, when his struggles became more than he could bear, I stopped learning things from him and actually became the one who taught him about the different aspects of God's love and forgiveness. I cherished and valued everything I learned from a father who loved me absolutely and unconditionally, but I still yearned for that father who imparted Godly wisdom to his children.

The weekend before daddy died, I had the opportunity to spend more time with him, just the two of us, than I could even remember and it happened to be on Father's Day. I was a bit nervous because so much had happened between us in the last year and a half that caused us to be on two totally different pages. Because of that, our conversations lessened to about once a week, 30 second phone calls checking to see how I was and wishing each other a good week or weekend. What do you talk about with a father who you no longer have much in common with, but love with all your heart? How do you convince a man so overcome with regrets of the past that he had so much to offer for the present and future? How do you look past the obvious decline of one's health and speak to the heart who always wanted to help others even when he hardly had anything to give?

I didn't have those answers that morning. In fact, it was all I could do to focus on driving the four hours north instead of completely breaking down after seeing him, knowing he didn't have much time left. I prayed. I prayed that God would turn it all around. I prayed that those next few weeks daddy was facing would be a turning point for him. I prayed that I was just being fearful and not actually seeing what was in front of me. Then daddy asked me a question: What would you do if you had 20 million dollars?

This question was not uncommon. Ever since I can remember, we have always asked this to each other. I knew his answers and he knew mine, yet we still spoke as if we had never had that conversation. Always, he would begin with, "After I give 10% back to the Lord..." This wasn't the first time I heard that, but something resonated in me that never had before. I have never been a happy tither. When I actually did give my 10%, it was out of obligation because the Bible said so. Here was my daddy, completely broken and facing a very difficult task, who had close to nothing left, and he not only chose to, but delighted in giving his 10% back to Lord before he even had it. Without even knowing it, daddy taught me a Godly lesson that completely shifted my perspective on tithing. From that lesson, I also experienced a greater measure of God's faithfulness because He knew that was the one thing I was yearning for from my daddy. Even though God didn't turn things around in the way that I wanted Him to, He is still so faithful and so good because He gave me my heart's desire on the last day I spent with my daddy. I learned something of the Lord that I never knew before and it was because of daddy's heart.

Looking back, I now see so many things about who daddy was that I never saw or fully realized before. Therefore, I am still learning from him just by him being the loving, devoted, giver that he was. My superman always had a broken cape until now. I didn't see it, but his cape was never broken, just not complete in a way that I thought it should be. Daddy always had his cape because he always loved no matter what. That is what I am learning from him. I choose to love like he did, which was how Jesus told us to love.

"Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other."

John 13:34-35

Picked All My Weeds But Kept the Flowers

This next treasure is probably my favorite post. It signifies such a turning point in my life that it is worth celebrating and remembering. I'm even saving the comments from Mama and Lance because it's good to be reminded of those who believe in me.

Gosh. I don't even have words when reflecting on this season other than how thankful I am for redemption.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Picked All My Weeds But Kept the Flowers

I was driving home from work the other day when a song started playing on my iPod that used to be an all time favorite: "Sober" by Kelly Clarkson. I hadn't heard it in quite some time and forgot how good it is (side note: I love it when that happens.... feels like I'm discovering it all over again)! Something new stirred inside of me while listening to it. I found that I relate more to the words now than I did before, when I just loved the fact that Kelly belts out some powerhouse vocals at the end. 

Three months and I'm still sober

At first thought, the listener is led to believe that "sober" means free from alcohol and/or drugs like most people refer it to being. I knew after listening to specific parts in the song that she was also singing about a broken heart, so I assumed that she fell into alcohol as a coping method for this heartache. But after my re-discovery of this song, it dawned on me that the addiction is in the form of a person, or rather the relationship with that person. This song became alive to me because I now understand. Not only do I understand the correct meaning, but also the emotions, the experience and the heart ache she's singing about. Those are my feelings. This is my song about my experience! To add to that discovery, three months, ironically, is the exact same time frame I relate to at this point in time. Of all the days to stumble upon this song again, it comes during a significant three month mark of my freedom.

This could break my heart or save me

Both.

Nothing’s real until you let go completely

This is my current lesson. Apparently it's not completely letting go if I've used certain friendships, entertainment (specifically shoot 'em up type movies) or even busyness to distract me from the pain of walking away. Being distracted means I haven't dealt with the ugly and started the true healing process. So when those distractions are stripped away (like right now) I am forced to deal with the pain and move on. Yes, it's what is needed to heal and yes, it hurts like crap, but it is good.

Three months and I’m still breathing... Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in

I couldn't have said it better.

Three months and I still remember it

Dreams.

Three months and I wake up

Finally. 

Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers

Isaiah 61:3 "...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair..."

Precious Little Nuggets

In the process of switching to a new email address, I have discovered that my lovely blog that is inconsistently updated will be deleted along with the old email. This is a bitter/sweet discovery since a lot of my posts were during "the dark days" and it would do me good to rid myself of anything connected to that period. Still, there are little nuggets in the recent posts (my version of recent being the last two years) that would sadden me to lose. Therefore, my first couple of posts on this new, shiny blog will be preserving the old, then welcoming the new.

This first post was the start of a very significant change in my life: The baby sister sprouted her wings and flew all the way to California. I also find humor in this post because it mentions Mr. Joel Houston.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Expectations

My sister is leaving soon.

I've been forced to accept this truth in the past week more than I anticipated. It still feels like such a far off thing that is still in the idea stage rather than a reality that is taking place in less than two months. There are such warring emotions that keep fighting to take front and center amongst my thoughts. There’s the obvious feeling of being so excited for what she’s about to experience and the other obvious, more selfish side of dreading being away from her. But as I allow myself to think more about her leaving, I realize that there’s one thought that prevails over all: I will definitely be forced to step out of the shadows. This brings on a mix of fear, excitement and anticipation all at once. I will no longer have her to hide behind or to lean on. Of course, it’s natural and healthy to have a sister to lean on, but not when it causes a lack of courage to step out on your own when needed. I know this will be a season of growth and discovery, in which I choose to embrace with courage.

There is one thing that seems to overpower these thoughts at the moment and it is the possibility of actually getting to cross off a dream on my list: meeting Joel Houston. It is still not official yet, but I know God is a God of dreams and I know He delights in seeing these fulfilled. I also know that Lance and Banning are completely capable of pulling it off. With that said, there are just 3 short days left. 3 days.

3 DAYS.

Whoa.

Sadly (for me), I did not get to meet Joel. Even more sadly (especially for me), he is now married. God is still a God of dreams and I know He still delights in seeing them fulfilled.

So let's keep dreaming.