Nicole Kropf

Last week, I was working on our family’s Christmas letter. Each year I try to put together a letter for friends and family that shares the highlights of the year. It’s a good way for us to reflect and practice gratitude and its a way for me to share our appreciation with those who have loved us so well. As I was writing, it occurred to me that the Christmas letter makes our life seem rather rosey and bright. And while in many ways, it is those things, we also experience heartbreaks and challenges that just don’t feel appropriate to share in a Christmas note.

I have been practicing authenticity – in sharing both the bright and dark moments of my own journey. I have been trying not to hide away and pretend all is always well. This is largely because, I want people to see beyond the social media smiles. I want everyone to know that even amidst the best bits of life, there are still seasons of hurt and brokenness. I want every struggling person to know that they aren’t alone.

So as adventurous and fun as our year has been, it has also been one of the hardest ones for my heart. In fact, a lot of moments this year I have felt split open. I wondered aloud to my husband if perhaps I would always feel a little bit sad – my whole life through. This heart I own is tender and easily marked. Over a year and a half ago, I was feeling a little jaded and passionless. I felt that the world was too hateful and corrupted. I felt powerless and tired and honestly angry. I felt that while the work that I do – caring for young kids and parenting my own- is meaningful work, I didn’t want it to be the only meaningful thing I shared with the world.

Right around that time, I read Bob Goff’s book Love Does. This was a massive shift in my life at the time. It reminded me of the power of love and it gave my heart permission to love big. I’ve always tried to reign in my heart. I know that often big gestures and loving proclamations can seem weird or off-putting so I had always attempted to pull back, to make myself a little smaller, a little less bold. Reading Goff’s book opened my eyes to the reality that we were literally made for the purpose of loving one another. It reminded me that love shows up and does things. It isn’t words but actions. It’s seeing the person before you – really seeing them and treating them with the reverence that they deserve as a masterpiece of the creator. This book told me that it was ok to love big. It gave me new passion that my life would be one of meaning if I only loved others well.

Having that new found lift and purpose, I decided that I was going to practice extravagant, abundant love. And almost exactly on cue, a new friend popped into my life. Truthfully, it felt ordained. It felt like this was my big opportunity to love for loves sake, a chance to show up for someone who could maybe use a little extra affection and encouragement. And for awhile, it was amazing. Our friendship became a safe place to talk about the heavy things of life but also a place to laugh. I found that in giving my love, I received back a friendship that felt like home. Until that friendship suddenly ended, without explanation.

I’ve recently learned that the term for this sudden silence is “ghosting” and I truly can’t think of a more fitting description. I was shaken. I felt lost and confused. My heart was broken open with loss. I felt the presence of that loss as if it were a ghost following me around. It was around this same time that my anxiety began to amp up. And when my brain doesn’t have an answer, it tries to fill in the blanks on its own. Whenever this happens, the self-critical lies and insecurities jump at the chance to ravage me once again. I questioned everything I had said and did. I kept trying to reconnect because more than anything else at that time, I longed for that friendship. But then I felt immediately ashamed – did that continuous effort to reconnect make me needy? Was I annoying? Was I just altogether too much?

I never got my answer and there are still days, even now, over a year later where my brain gets nasty and starts to belittle me. There are many moments even now that I deeply miss that friendship. It’s been a year of learning to live with that loss and those unanswered questions. And its been a year where my heart has been split open and achey. But even in that hurt, I didn’t give up on love.

I still believed that love could change the world. And when the opportunity arose again for me to step into another friendship – one where the other party was hurting and feeling alone, I took the chance to love again. I’m sure you can see where this is going…that friendship fell apart too. I reacted out of concern to something that my friend had said and for whatever reason, this went off like a bomb. My friend immediately turned hateful and hurtful. At one point I apologized and I said, “I believe you know my heart.” This friend responded with, “I do. And I’m not impressed.” Now – it’s not that I’m trying to be impressive. However, I really, truly believed that I had given this person the very best I had to give. Hearing those words hit me right in the most sensitive spot of my heart. You see, though I haven’t really spoken it aloud, my greatest fear – that big scary one that I don’t speak of – is sharing the best parts of myself with someone and having them turn away as if I’m trash. There it is. I’m afraid to give all I have and be found wanting.

These two big relationship breakdowns truly broke me open. I started to question God – “What are you trying to teach me here? I’ve loved big. I’ve shown up. I’ve done the work. Why is it all falling apart?” I wanted to throw in the towel. Despite everything I genuinely believe about community and connection and affection being the necessary ingredients for a better world, I wanted to quit. Even as I write this, it hurts. The wound is fresh and open. Sometimes I feel like I am holding my breath. Sometimes I worry that this will be the pattern of my life – that no matter what I have to give, it will never be enough to anyone.

But. God. But in the midst of my brokenness, God gave me the image of a small seed. You see, I am always striving to grow. I am continuously reflecting and reading and attempting to become a better version of myself. So God provided me with this beautiful image of how a plant grows from a seed. In order for new life to emerge, the seed has to crack open. The plant cannot grow if it’s seed is not first split open with the effort. Then a second image arose – one of a child learning to walk. We don’t accomplish anything new without some stumbles and yes – even some falls.

Some of us choose to stay tucked in our seed shells where we feel safe. We don’t want to stretch out only to stumble and fall. Fear so often makes us too afraid to move or stops any progression we’ve made. And if there was ever a powerful villain in my life, fear is his trusty sword used to keep me in my place. I believe it was Nelson Mandela who said, “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

My friends, we have a choice. We can choose to stay tucked in our seed shell. We can remain wrapped up tight and refuse to fall. We can choose familiar comfort. Or we can choose to be broken open. We can stumble, and yes experience painful falls. But in the end, we can grow. New life can stretch throughout our veins. We can be brave and stand up to the villain with his sword of fear. We can allow that which has split us open to produce new growth. We can be brave.

So while I still feel sad, and these wounds are still fresh, I’m believing, and hoping, and trying so hard to trust that I’m being split open with a purpose. That through this breaking apart, there will come new growth. That though I have stumbled and fallen on my face, I will arise stronger when I try again. And I will try again. Love after all is the only thing that matters in the end.