\ Mothers of All Kinds: A spoken word for Mother’s Day | Dorina Lazo Gilmore

Mothers of All Kinds: A spoken word for Mother’s Day

The following is a spoken word piece I wrote for The Bridge Church to share on Mother’s Day 2018. You can watch the piece here. The transcript of the piece is below.

 

I am Eve, the mother of mankind, the first to walk with God in the garden

the one to sink her teeth into that forbidden fruit that would change history.

 

I am Sarah, who left my people and my comfort zone

to link arms with my husband in a new land, to raise up nations.

 

I am Hagar escaping the heat of my mistress by running to the desert with my Ishmael

and discovering a God who sees His daughters in the wilderness.

 

I am Esther, an orphan-turned-queen, called into the palace

to pray, persuade and leverage my privileges for my people.

 

I am Rahab, who extended a rope of hope to strangers because I believed

in the power of God and became the mother to Boaz, the great great grandmother to King David.

 

I am Ruth, a widow-turned-warrior, who worked and gleaned and gained

the attention of one Boaz, who stands a story of how God turns ashes into beauty.

 

I am Hannah, weeping in the synagogue for God to open my womb

and experiencing the miracle of my sweet boy Samuel, my gift back to the Giver.

 

I am Elizabeth, who became a mother even with wrinkled face and tired shoulders,

who birthed John, the friend and forerunner of Jesus Christ himself.

 

I am Mary, the mother of God’s own Son, who watched her son die a horrible death on the cross and stands witness today to the power of resurrection.

 

You are the new mother, cradling your cherub in your arms, wondering if you were cut out for this constant work of changing diapers, wiping noses, buckling into car seats and grocery carts.

 

You are the grandmother serving up spaghetti and meatballs along with Bible stories and songs to help your little saplings grow in strength and faith.

 

You are the wife who stood at her husband’s graveside, burying him too soon and bearing up his grown children to help them navigate their grief.

 

You are the single woman watching other women’s children, waiting, wondering when it will be your turn.

 

You are the working mom, packing lunches and slipping into heels, whisking them off to school before the bell rings, before you start your day at the office.

 

You are the adoptive mom, crossing cultures to mother, to raise up, to stand in the gap for this child who carries the blood of another.

 

You are the barren mother, who weeps when she sees another negative pregnancy test, when she hears the treatment didn’t work. Again.

 

You are the mother whose babies have already flown to heaven, who endures the sting each Mother’s day that reminds you of this deep and hidden loss.

 

Your tears glisten like stars – tiny holes of light pricking through the night sky.

And He sees you there.

He does care.

He walks with you every step of the way.

He comforts you in your sorrow.

He waits patiently for you to come home.

 

You are the missionary to the outcast;

You are the sister to the prodigal;

You are the friend to the friendless;

You are the coach to the child;

You are the mentor to the young mother…

 

We are the women of Haiti, rolling beads from recycled cardboard, dreaming of days to come when we might pay for our children to go to school, when we might build that house on the hill.

 

We are the women of Japan, taking vintage kimonos and refashioning them into scarves and purses and jewelry. Our hearts are mended as we push needles through soft cloth.

 

We are the women of Germany, reaching out to refugees, crossing cultural barriers to lift up the foreigner, the other mother without a place to rest her head.

 

We are the women of the Bridge, reaching out to the neighborhood, investing in schools, non-profits, serving on Sundays, greeting new friends at the door

 

We are the women who prepared His body for burial, who washed His feet with our hair, who stood by when others denied Him.

 

We are the women, who were first to the tomb, who were surprised by angled light and the curve of miracle

 

We are the women sent out to preach the Good News, to tell the story of our Risen King.

 

We are the women bending knees in our war rooms on behalf of our children, husbands, city, valley, country, neighbors, and friends.

 

Mothers of all kinds,

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all. (Ephesians 1:16-23, ESV)

 

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About Dorina Gilmore

I grew up on the South Side of Chicago and then was transplanted to Central California after college. I'm officially a California girl now. My husband died of melanoma cancer in 2014, but in God's wild grace He brought my new husband Shawn to redeem our family. I have three daughters. When I'm not writing or speaking, I'm trail running, knitting or chasing sunsets at the ocean. My passion is helping people navigate grief and discover God's glory in the process.

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