SPEAKING.APP

Clear! Clear. We have a female, unresponsive, no pulse. Contest chair, fellow Toastmasters from around the world, and guests, two years ago that unresponsive female was me. My co-driver and I had just finished transporting eighty-eight homeless shelter dogs to a rescue in New Jersey. On the way back, I was riding in the passenger seat of the van when the accident happened. For six minutes, my heart stopped beating. Best sleep ever. While I was unconscious, thirty-seven strangers, firefighters, EMTs, helicopter pilots, surgeons, nurses, came together to try to save my life. Because death is so final. I don’t remember any of it. But in my mind, those six minutes turned into a whole scene, like I was trying to get into heaven. In my imagination, I’m standing at the pearly gates. St. Peter is on his iPad, and I can see God in the background playing with his dogs. And I say my God because I don’t want to offend some of you. I want to offend all of you. I say, “St. Peter, I’m Luisa Montalvo.” He looks down and goes, “I don’t even have you on the agenda. Hang on.” He walks over to God and says, “God… Luisa Montalvo’s here.” God says, “I don’t have anybody for two minutes.” Then God pauses and asks, “Wait. Was this a car accident?” St. Peter says, “Yes.” God says, “Luisa Montalvo… makes sense. Have you ever seen her drive?” St. Peter says, “No, God. She was the passenger.” God says, “Is she the one trying to save my homeless dogs in Texas?” St. Peter says, “Yes, God.” God leans over, waves at me, and says, “Luisa… today’s not your day. It’s not your time.” Then he leans over to St. Peter’s iPad and hits the reset button. And that’s the moment I picture the real world kicking in: the paddles go on my chest. Clear! And I start breathing again. But the real fight was still ahead. For the next ninety days, I was in a trauma center and rehab, questioning everything: What was my value? What was I worth? What good was I… when I couldn’t even walk? Then one day, during my final week before going home, I wheeled myself into the gym to work out. And even though my father always said, “Quitters cry,” I started to cry anyway. I rolled up to my machine, and this young, handsome guy next to me starts chatting. “Hi, how are you doing? I’m getting married soon.” I’m half listening to his wedding plans, and I catch myself thinking, Why is he even here? He looks so young and fit. And then I look down. He had recently lost both of his legs. And there he was, smiling. Grateful. Acting like he’d been handed a second chance, and he was not going to waste one minute of it. In that moment, I made a decision: life was not going to get away from me. That’s when I realized something. A lot of us walk around quietly questioning our value. Why are we even here? But thirty-seven strangers saw value in me when I couldn’t see it in myself. They poured all that positive input into my life, and now I’m determined to make that part of my output. Because the truth is, we will often listen to a stranger who tells us we matter before we’ll listen to ourselves. So if you need a stranger to tell you you have value, allow me to be that stranger. You have value. And if thirty-seven people can come together and put that kind of energy into one broken body on the side of a road, can you imagine what seventeen hundred of us could accomplish? Sometimes it’s not complicated. It’s treating each other with dignity and worth. How awesome would it be if we lived like that every day? If you’re ready to hit that reset button, if you’re looking for that second chance, let’s hit that reset button. Are you ready? Clear? Clear! Clear.