Author: Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

Like most people I have many identifiers. Currently I call myself writer, author, minister of Word and sacrament in the ELCA, and child development specialist. I am also a mother, widow, wife, sister, and daughter. My pronouns are she/hers.
Healing meditation, Trauma recovery

Trembling: A Healing Practice

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

“Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations also of the mountains trembled
and quaked…” Psalm 18: 7

A Practice

Lie down. Pick a point within your body where you feel pain, discomfort, or crap. Close your eyes. Breathe in for five counts filling up your lungs from bottom to top. Send your breath into your pain. Surrounding it. Now breathe out for five counts. Sending some of your pain into God or the universe. Notice you may tremble on the exhale. Allow tremblings their say. Repeat for as long as you receive comfort in doing this kind of breathing. Then breathe in again. Breathe out. Speak these words (or words like it) to your pain:

Pain, agitation, anxiety, whatever your name is, I walk toward you. Because if I walk toward you, you cannot control me. If I walk away, you dominate my body. So I move toward you. With my breath. Breath receiving the emotions you hold captive. I walk toward you naming my emotions as holy.

A Prayer

God, creator of all human emotions, hold me. Assure me of healthy relief. Coming soon. Already traveling toward me. Send courage in my waiting, my trembling, my healing. Amen.

___________________________________________________________________________

A Note from Jennifer: You may opt in or opt out of any practice at any time. Not every practice is for every body.

Image by Laura Otýpková from Pixabay

Grief, Trauma

Heavy Day

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

Each year on this day, August 13th, I honor all those who lost their lives in the Wisconsin River. I also honor their beloveds. Those left to make sense of life after death. In doing so I honor myself, my sons, and our large extended family. Yet I do so with heaviness. Ever wondering if this practice of mine is helpful. To me. To anyone.

This year, I scramble to find those who have died in the past year. The list seems small and nameless.

In March, a woman.

June 29th, a 63-year-old man.

Not listing their names seems like an added cruelty layered onto to unexpected death, shock, grief, sorrow. This year leading me to a realization. Of why I do this painful pattern each year, now numbering eight. Yes, to be truthful about the dangers of that river. Yes, to find a sense of community in common experience. Yet also as a pleading prayer to have just five more minutes with the husband/partner/friend/lover/co-parent I lost without warning. Just five minutes to say, “I love you!”

And “Any last words of wisdom as I live on without you?”

And then, “Goodbye!”

My list each year, what cannot ever find full closure. Just a holding while living.

Image by Anna from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Hope, Trauma, Trauma recovery

Affliction

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

“My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, “Gone is my glory, and all that I had hoped for from God.” The thought of my affliction and my homelessness is wormwood and gall! My soul continually thinks of it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of God never ceases…” Lamentations 3:17-22

Reflection

Bitter thoughts. Stewing from down below. Gurgling with stomach acids. Bubbling up. Burning the esophagus. Causing throat and breath to sour.

The writer of Lamentations uses strong metaphors. Wormwood, a plant smelling and tasting bitter. Gall, another name for bile. Words filling the air and us with pain’s felt presence in and out of our bodies.

But in the midst of severe affliction this writer dares to hope? What is it that this writer “call(s) to mind?” Surrounded by smells so intense, so permeating the writer curls. Caves in. What glimmers enough amidst affliction to speak of “steadfast love”?

Healing Practice: Glimmers

What gives you even a small glimmer of hope? A pin head of possibility? A fleeting thought of future?

What or who steadies you right now? Your therapist? The mail carrier showing up every day at the same time? The noon time factory whistle or downtown church bells?

Name these. Write them down. Even the smallest of the small. The writer of Lamentations puts hope in God. Maybe you do too. Maybe you don’t. Or maybe God is a glimmer of what can be.

Prayer

God of what can be, bring breezes filled with fresh air. Blow away bitterness’ smell. Settle my stomach. Give relief to my soured throat. Spark my imagination. Fill my thoughts with hope’s tiny glimmers. Amen.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Liturgy, Trauma, Trauma recovery

Distress

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

When in pain, we often curl up. Shut others out. Protect ourselves. Needing time to think or feel or rest. Isolating too long however works against us. We cease to cry out. We cease to connect.

The writer of this psalm laments, words reaching out of isolation.

“Hear my prayer, Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress, I call to you…” Psalm 86: 6-7a (NIV)

We can practice reaching out. Even if we do not want to now. We can prepare for the time when isolation becomes harmful. Like the psalmist we can cry out to God or others in our suffering. With a loud voice. With shaking hands or clenched fists. Asking God or the universe to hear our cries. Witness our distress. Answer our calls.

Today, use your own words or the prayer below.

God, I call you. Hear me.

God, I call you. See me.

God, I call you. Listen to me.

God, I call you. Give mercy to my distress,

My cries,

My prayers.

God, I call you.

Amen. 

Image by Satyaban Sahoo from Pixabay

Healing, Liturgy, Prayer

Prayers for Pastors & Deacons

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

I wrote these prayers for pastors, deacons, and others who work for the Church. These petitions found communal life at the 2024 ELCA Northern Illinois Synod Assembly.

God of seed and soil, wind and rain, earth and all creatures,

We see ourselves in the seeds scattered on the path. Instead of birds, the work we do eats us up. Holy Wind blow us off this path and into soil that feeds us. God of good soil, hear our prayer.

We feel like we too fell on rocky ground. We quickly spring from task to task rooted only in our to-do lists with no protection from our own and others’ pain.  Holy energy help us find deep soil to grow extensive roots in your being. God of good soil, hear our prayer.

We seek to be surrounded by support and rest. Instead, life prickles with thorns of complaint, gossip, and demands. We cannot catch our breath. We choke. Holy weeder, release us from these tangles. Help us to breathe well again. God of good soil, hear our prayer.

We know we are not alone in our laments and pain. Holy Gospel, open our mouths to tell the truth. Keep us working for justice for all people. God of good soil, hear our prayer.

We send these prayers out into your full creation O, God through your anointed one and with Holy Breath. Amen.

Image by onehundredseventyfive from Pixabay