Nicole Kropf

Blink.

I’m 12.

Everyday, I stand on the outside looking in. I don’t quite fit. Maybe I never did and am only now realizing it. Loneliness has become my normal but there is one bright light in my life. My best friend stands by me – no matter what. She could easily leave me behind. She could join the growing crowd of voices who mock me. But she doesn’t. She sticks up for me – time and time again. For the first time, I think to myself – this is what it means to love – to stay when you could leave, to fight for someone when it would be easier to throw in the towel.

Blink.

I’m 15.

My mom calls me a social butterfly. I do float from group to group and have friends in different circles but it’s less because I’m social and more because I haven’t quite found where I belong. It bugs me how cliquey high school is and I often wonder why we can’t all just be nice to one another.

Blink.

Still 15.

I’m invited to a youth retreat and surprising even myself, I decide to go. As I walk into the giant tent where the main sessions are held, I am overwhelmed. There are over 2000 kids here – all from different walks of life – kids who in any other situation would have nothing in common. I think to myself that there is room for everyone here. I’m drawn to their God who holds his arms open and welcomes all. I want to know this God who loves freely and whose forgiveness is bigger than all of my mistakes. He sounds like my kind of guy.

Blink.

I’m 17.

I am working at a camp that has become like a second home. I meet a boy who is working his way through a loss. I recognize hurt in others and I’m overflowing with affection. I want to soothe the woundedness I see in him. We become fast friends. His presence makes my heart beat hard and fast. It’s midnight and we are laying on the beach, sound of the waves in the background; the sky unclouded by city lights shines with stars. We kiss and it’s like the world around me stops. I think – this is the stuff of fairytales – a kiss that could wake a beauty long asleep. I allow myself to dream of a future in which I love and am loved. I leave camp for a few weeks and when I return, the sweet boy who stole my breath with a glance has already started writing a new story with a different girl.

Blink.

I’m 18.

I’m in my first year of university. I meet a boy with a broken smile and shadows in his eyes. I long to know what’s darkened the edges of his story and I wonder if maybe all that he needs is someone who genuinely cares. I hang around more and more and gradually learn all of the beautiful pieces of his mind and all of the sharp edges of his wounded heart. He becomes my boyfriend. I don’t yet know that being needed is not the same as being loved. He is kind-hearted and interesting, a deeply feeling person in a very messy world. I become so much a part of his life that I no longer know who I am without him. We have a lot of wonderful times together but there often seem to be cobwebs of pain hanging in the distant corners.  I spend every moment praying that my voice can drown out the voices in his head. But it’s hard for me to compete with years of his self-hatred. I wonder if I can be enough to fill the empty spaces within him. I give my light  chasing hope for a boy who can only seem to chase darkness.

Blink.

I’m 21.

I’m at a bar with my girlfriends. We love to dance and are rocking retro moves and being silly. I meet a boy with whom I share an immediate connection. We dance. We talk. We laugh a lot. There are undeniable sparks but I have a boyfriend whom I love. It crosses my mind that maybe there isn’t just one person in the universe for each of us. Maybe there is any number of people whom we could build a life with. Maybe a big part of love is in fact a choice.

Blink.

I’m 22.

I’ve been with my boyfriend for nearly 4 years. I love him. I have loved him deeply. But I’m running short on hope that he will ever even like himself. All of our friends seem to be getting married and I too still dream of a white picket fence life. I have to choose between a future alone or a future where each day is uncertain. A future where I’d fear coming home as much as I’d fear leaving. It occurs to me that fear of leaving isn’t a good enough reason to stay. I choose myself.

Blink

Still 22.

I realize that I have feelings for my best friend. We’ve been friends for 8 years so there is no awkward ” get-to-know-you” stage. He is encouraging and kind. He is the kind of guy who drives for hours just to spend a short time sitting with a friend. We share a strong passion for our people. He sends me song lyrics that remind him of me. He rents my favourite movie and cooks me supper for Valentines day. He surprises me with tickets to my favourite comedian – just because. Suddenly my life closely resembles a chick flick. In only 3 short months, I know without a doubt that I am in love.

Blink.

I’m 24.

I’m about to walk down the aisle where I’ll leave my old self behind and come away with a husband and a new name. I know now what love really is – at least I think I do. I know that marriage (and life) will come with highs and lows. I know that love is a choice that we will have to make everyday (especially when it doesn’t feel as easy as it does right now). Saying my vows, I know that I am agreeing to love this man not only as he is now but also as he is yet to be. I know that life changes people. We dance to a song called “The Greatest Story Ever Told” because our romance feels like one for the ages. Loving him is a choice I want to make every single day.

Blink.

I’m 28.

I’m expecting a baby who just won’t come on his own. I’m induced and my body begins to labour. My progress is excruciatingly slow and then stalls entirely. My precious baby is struggling. I am rushed for an emergency c-section. I’m trying to be brave but fear steals my breath. Finally we hear a cry. My heart comes alive in a whole new way. I know in an instant that there isn’t a single treasure greater than this. Holding my sweet boy, I learn that love is fierce and I sense that nothing can ever separate a child from the love of his mother. I’m reminded that God loves me (and everyone) in much the same way.

Blink.

I’m 30.

I hold a tiny blue-eyed girl who clutches my finger and also the strings of my heart. Motherhood has taught me that love is selfless. My faith has done the same. I believe that the best thing I can give the world is children who grow up loved and who know kindness from birth. I name my daughter “brave.” I don’t ever want her to be limited by fear. Instead, I want her to live a life of passionate love. I know that love cannot exist without courage.

Blink.

I’m 31.

Somehow I find myself surrounded by women I respect and admire who love me exactly as I am. I feel like I never want to hide pieces of myself again. I don’t want to waste any more time attempting to fit into boxes. They are restrictive and uncomfortable. I want to stretch out. And I want to give others permission to do the same. I am once again inspired to love big, without condition. I meet someone who feels like family that I didn’t know I’d lost and yet somehow found again. Our friendship gives my excess affection somewhere safe to land. It reminds me that love leaves space for people to be seen and heard.

Blink.

I’m 32.

I am having a month of lows. Life circumstances have pulled the rug from beneath my feet and left me winded. I attempt to pack all of my emotions into a suitcase in my mind – one that’s so full I have to sit on it to get the  zipper closed. I live in fear that it will burst open. I finally decide it’s time to open it up again. I pull out each hurt and unfold it in front of my friends. I let out all that I’ve been holding in and I’m surprised by the love and grace that my people pour out upon me. I breathe out pain and when I breathe in again, I feel fresh hope rushing into my lungs. You see, love walks with us through our pain. It surprises us and fills us with hope. It turns our brokenness into beauty. Love reminds us who we are and helps direct us where to go next.

Blink.

I am every age.

I am living and learning. Sometimes I succeed at loving in both simple and extravagant ways.  But loving something – or someone – means that I have something to lose. So sometimes my fears and insecurities get the best of me. Love is a lesson to be learned in a million different ways at a million different times. I will dedicate my life to learning it’s many languages.