Posted by: riverchilde | September 25, 2012

Big Momma’s Lap

I have a children’s picture book called “Big Momma Makes the World.” Between reading it and reading   The Shack, I’ve developed an alternate envisioning of the God to whom I go when troubles are deep. She’s big–big enough to absorb all my woes and tears–and dark-skinned. When She sits on the steps of her Front Porch*, which is where I often find Her, her lap is as wide as the sea and her strong calves are as tall as Sequoia trees.

But when I sit on the step right below Her, Her lap is at just the right height to lay my head in, and Her smooth brown calves are soft and supportive all at once. I can’t see Her face from where I sit, but that doesn’t matter, because it’s Her lap and legs that I need. I lean into them, wrap my arms around them, and absorb their strength and love, feeling the warmth flow from Her, through my cheek and into my innermost being.

This morning, I decided to pack up Alex’s Nerf guns, which hang on a floor-to-ceiling peg board in his room. It’s time to start transforming the room from shrine to sanctuary, and I think I’ll need to do it in small steps. I discovered that most of the guns are too long to fit in a standard plastic tote, and after fiddling with them for a while to see if they would disassemble, I gave up.

I realized that not only had I not accomplished my task, but that I was going to have to go buy another, longer, plastic box for the guns. We never had to pick out a casket for Alex, choosing cremation and a display of his favorite items at the wake instead. Placing those guns in the plastic box felt like putting them in a coffin. And now I would need to buy another one and fill it.

I left the room with an ache in my throat and a heavy heart. Not the way I had intended to start the morning. This was supposed to have been a simple task, but nothing is simple anymore.

Big Momma beckoned, and I went to lay my head in her lap. I cried, and she stroked my hair. Her lap absorbed my tears; her hands smoothed away my distress. She comforted me, and I was well again–well enough for this day at least.

* Isaiah 6:1 calls it a throne in a temple, but I think the steps of a front porch is a lot more comfortable spot to sit with your head in God’s lap.

After I wrote this blog, this song came to me, and I listened to it on YouTube with the image of Big Momma on the stairs in mind, substituting “her” for “his” in the lyrics. It was quite powerful and healing for me.



  1. another powerful evocation — maybe we can also be some of “Big Momma’s” arms around you?

  2. […] already nabbed all his sweatshirts for myself (as well as all the closet-rod space in his room). I’d finally found boxes for the Nerf guns, and taken down the peg board upon which they had hung. The beautiful rainbow canvasses (upon which […]

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