Prologue

Before I post any other blogs, there is something deep inside me that won't let me continue until I have made known why I do what I do and love what I love.

I didn't always love writing, quite the contrary actually. I used to sit in my English classes and tally (at the top of my paper) how many times the teacher said "like," "um," or "so." I think that my mindset was skewed by the fact that every piece of literature I had ever written or read up until high school was either forced, graded, or just not my choice. That was, until my senior year of high school.

It was a quiet Friday morning and only a few weeks of summer remained. I had just gone through a rigorous "arena scheduling" process of basically racing my peers in choosing our own classes for the upcoming school year. To me, my schedule was perfect; I had just enough required classes to stay out of my hair and an amazing selection of elective classes to keep me entertained until graduation—one of which, being my Advanced Wood Shop class. My Wood Shop class was the cherry on top, what more could a teenage boy dream about!?

As I sat back in my chair and folded my arms behind my head, I let out a sigh of relief that was almost immediately interrupted by an email notification. It was from the very teacher whose speech I use to tally on the top of my assignments! Her inquiry? She wanted me, of all people, to join her school Newspaper class. She had received a satire article about fake chemistry that I had written for a science class as a joke during the Covid-19 pandemic. My science teacher had apparently found it quite entertaining and evidently sent it to my English teacher.

I sat there dumbfounded, in fact, I think I even laughed at the very thought. And yet, a part of me slipped into shocking curiosity. Did she see a talent in me that I couldn't even see in myself? Would I be able to write my own feelings for once in opinion columns of a newspaper? By what I might call fate, my mind raced as I seriously considered her offer, though the first initial impressions were entirely against me.

Then, as if I was stepping the stones of my life's destiny, I decided to take my thoughts and questions to God (as I had often done before). Now, understand that only a few hours remained before my carefully-selected schedule would become permanent and virtually impossible to change. I found myself, not minutes later, in the parking lot of an LDS(Latter-day Saint) Temple of the Lord. I wanted to have a conversation with my Heavenly Father, or, even more accurately, I wanted him to help me know that if I would be taking this class, what class I would drop in its stead.

In my car, the conversation went something like this: "Heavenly Father, I've been presented with an opportunity. If it be Thy will, I can either drop my other English class, my Theater class, my Personal Finance class, or my Math class, which will it be?" —No response. No prompting. "Okay, well, maybe I just won't take the Newspaper class?" —No response. No prompting. "Well I know what you're thinking, but there is absolutely no way I am dropping my Wood Shop class Heavenly Father..." —Strong prompting. Strong Spirit. That day, through a series of sacred events, I wrestled with God as my stubborn soul urged not to listen but my heart swelled with emotion. Then, by miraculous angelic odds, I left that parking lot with a Newspaper class and not a Wood Shop class in my schedule. It was finalized 50 minutes later.

So there I was, a teenage boy in his senior year taking two full-year credits of English classes and little-to-no elective classes. "God better have a plan," I thought—And boy, oh boy, did He.

Flash forward to my first day of school and it turns out, my Newspaper class wasn't so bad after all. It seemed as though I would be able to write with my own voice and my own topics, it actually excited me! As the school day came to a close, I thought I would pay a visit to my Woods teacher and explain to him why I hadn't taken his advanced class. I made my routine way to his classroom only to find the doors locked and the lights completely off. The Wood Shop was never closed after school... I made my way to the main office and asked if they knew where everybody was. Somebody pointed me to the stage in the school's auditorium and I went there urgently.

I approached in confusion as Mr. Nuttall waved from his make-shift desk next to a sheet taped to the wall to function as a projector. Chairs and tables littered the stage. "What is going on here?" I asked. "They have found asbestos in the Wood Shop and have undergone an immediate renovation that could last up to seven months. We are all stuck in here for now learning about the tools but can't use them until it's done," he replied downheartedly. "Woah..." I was taken aback. Then he added, "worst part is, the counseling office won't let any of my kids change classes because then I would be out of work and other teachers would be over-booked." Chills went up and down my spine; I would have been one of those students.

In that very moment I learned two very important things that have literally changed the course of my life.

1) God knows me personally and is willing to let me hurt and wail initially so I can love and rejoice Eternally.

2) Writing, like He had probably been intending all along, quickly became my life's passion.

So why did I start with this "Prologue" of sorts? To help you understand that every single piece of writing that is either posted or not posted on this blog, is a testimony to me and you that Jesus is the Christ and God is the Omniscient Father of all living beings personally and intimately.

Please enjoy my work with these things in mind. Thank you for tuning in to this week's entree, more to come soon!

-Cale Kenneth Montoya

1 year after my initial prompting to take the Newspaper class, I would graduate with orange English Cords of recognition.