The Fourth Day of Christmas by Carissa Groot-Nibbelink
When I first read the series of questions that prompted this twelve days of Christmas piece, my initial response was “I don’t know.” Of course, within a few minutes, I had a long list of moments and people, numerous stories, and honest reflection that there were many, many more moments, people and stories that I could not name because either I could not see it or I didn’t know in that moment.
And, I kept returning to that first phrase that popped up for me “I don’t know.” And so, I’ve decided to pay attention to that: how has Christ been present to me in this season? Well, Christ has been WITH me in the “I don’t know.”
I imagine that if my last year was a play at a fancy theatre, the brightly lit sign announcing the production would read Now Playing: “I Don’t Know.” It feels as though that phrase has been a dark cloud over my head. Until I suppose, I started to think of it in terms of the birth of Christ.
—
Mary, how did you become this mother’s baby without… you know…
And Mary’s response at times, even if she knew the Holy Spirit’s work, likely was
“I don’t know.”
Or I think about Mary, belly bursting, with her swollen feet up, just spiralling in her thoughts. Thinking to herself, “and just how do you think you’re going to do this?” And muttering under her breath, “I don’t know.”
Or, at the very time of Jesus’ birth, asking the innkeeper for a room in that space of uncertainty – I imagine Joseph asking well, where can we go? And, the innkeeper stammering in response, “I don’t know.”
Or Jesus crying in the cradle in the middle of the night… and Mary and Joseph worn and distraught, exchanging glances, thinking the same thing at once, “How will this baby be the Saviour?” And almost immediately, answering their own question: “I don’t know.”
—
This last year, there has been a constant buzz of questions, the persistent poking of insecurities, an abundance of unknowns, a generous helping of disruption and discomfort. It has been for me a season of “I don’t know.”
I started a new job this year and, let me tell you, I now understand the feeling of “I’m in over my head.” It has been a journey of small courageous steps and messy mistakes and hiccups. I was in a new space and the panicked feeling of the unknown became as familiar to me as a dear friend.
Also, this year, someone very close to me was going through health concerns and, after many consultations with specialists, there were no answers. As family and caretakers, we felt defeated. Our minds started racing with all the possibilities. We were told not to do any Google searches; so, naturally, we did. There was no quick fixes or solutions. Just the constant seemingly eerie silence that comes with waiting.
I know someone who lost their sister this past year. “She was my right hand… “ A pause and then, “there were five of us siblings. Now three are gone.” She looked at me intently, searching my eyes for some comfort. Internally, my anxiety was determined to grab for any sort of encouragement or solutions… yet, I knew better. What do I say, I thought?
—
In this last year, Christ has drawn near to me through my “I don’t know” season of life. As much as I try to throw up my hands and give up, Christ comes close. Sits with me — and others — in the complexities and tensions. Accompanies me — and others — in their grief.
It may seem subtle — and yet, this is our Christ. No fanfare. Humbly and persistently present—including seasons of “I don’t know.”
In this space between Christmas and New Years, it is my prayer that Christ may find you in your “I don’t knows.” When you feel the weight and wrestling of more questions with no solution or clarity in sight, may you carry the reminder of Christ’s presence — once a tiny baby in our midst.
When you begin to ruminate again and again on some “defection” or “blemish” that you have, may you see the wide wonder in the Christ child’s eyes, looking back at you with pure delight and love.
When you feel isolated and alone when the waves of grief, depression, or anxiety feel overwhelming, may you feel the tiny hand of the Christ child reaching out for yours.
The “I don’t knows” are mysterious, excruciating, formative, lonely, stretching, and expanding. And, in all of that, Christ remains present… of that, I am confident.
You can find a downloadable PDF of this reflection here.
Each day, a new reflection will drop here. We hope you enjoy them and reflect upon, experiencing the presence of Christ in this season.