Retired pastor Sondra Willobee reflects on her road to recovery and the places she’s experienced healing following a concussion 15 months ago.
SONDRA WILLOBEE
Retired Pastor, Michigan Conference
“I love the Lord because he has heard my voice and my supplications. Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live” (Psalm 116:1-2, NRSVUE).
Birdsong. Dappled light on green leaves. The scent of wild roses. Tall stems of lavender dame’s rocket and yellow parasols of wild parsnip stand upright among the grasses.
As I ride my bike from Hudson Mills Metropark toward Dexter, a cool breeze tightens the sunscreen on my cheek. Strong thigh muscles expand and contract as I pedal uphill. Bluish-purple raspberry canes studded with green berries promise tangy sweetness in months to come.
If I smile any wider, I’ll have bugs in my teeth.
Fifteen months after my concussion, I am healed.
Healed.
***
But how do I know for sure?
Uncertainty has shadowed this long journey.
When Ed and I went camping in April, I hiked for two hours on the trail around Gosling Lake, walking the ridges between kettle ponds, dipping low into tamarack swamps, climbing steep hills into oak forests, stepping down again to greet trillium beside a small creek. When we returned to the trailer, I did not have to lie down for a nap.
I participated fully in a three-day retreat with four other writers in mid-May. I read, wrote, and conversed from morning until night without rationing my attention. I hiked there, too, seeing clearly enough to discern the faint trail, stepping over logs and under branches until we found the eagle’s nest. When we returned to the lodge, I did not have to hide in my room — any more than an introvert usually does.
The week after the retreat, Ed and I went camping again. I paddled and portaged for two and a half hours on the twisting and constricted Rifle River as we picked our way around boulders and piled-up logs. When the river was impassable, I hefted my end of the canoe — three different carries over rough terrain — until we decided we’d seen enough log jams for one trip.
After the paddle, I drank a Yuengling with dinner, unworried the alcohol in one beer would damage an over-taxed brain.
On Tuesday, when we walked the nature trail at Hudson Mills, I did not have to focus my gaze on a tree or sign fifty feet ahead like I had to a year ago when we walked these woods.
On Wednesday, when I walked again — the eighth hike in nine days — I swiveled my head left to identify oak trees and right to admire the Huron River, back and forth, without getting dizzy. I looked up at the blue sky and down at my feet and did not lose my balance. I did not have to sit on the bench midway through the trip.
While doing yard work on Thursday, I crouched beside bushes to pull out dead leaves, getting up and down repeatedly to reposition the kneeling pad or to empty the bucket onto the tarp. My head did not spin. I worked for a full hour and felt fine.
Yesterday I rode my bike. Ten miles. Last summer, when I rode just three miles, I wobbled after dismounting and lurched to the side.
Today, I move easily through chores and activities without thinking about eye strain or headache or dizziness or fatigue. I can stand at my computer desk without tracking the number of minutes I’ve spent on screen.
And tomorrow I will preach.
I cannot thank you enough, O my God. How can I keep from singing? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord.
***
Will I still have to pay attention to messages from my body and my brain? Yes. Will I have to be careful and not push myself to the point of exhaustion? That will always be true for me. Will I have to watch where I step on icy days? Yes, ma’am.
Will new challenges come?
Of course.
But thank you, thank you, Jesus. For all the prayers that went up for me. For all the care from family and friends. For Ed, who never wavered.
Thank you.
Even when lamentations rise, may I sing your praise as sweetly as the wood thrush high in the trees. May my light dapple the earth and give you glory. May I be upright as flowers among the grasses, and may my strength honor you. May I bear the fruits of the Spirit, especially patience and charity, in months to come.
May every day be a canticle of praise.
I am healed.
The Rev. Sondra Willobee is a retired elder, last serving as lead pastor at South Lyon: First UMC. She wrote articles for The Michigan Christian Advocate, FaithLink, and Linktionary, and is the author of The Write Stuff: Crafting Sermons That Capture and Convince (2009). You can also read her blog, sondrawillobee.com/blog.
The publication of this article was made possible thanks to generous financial gifts from local United Methodist churches in Michigan through Ministry Shares. Thank you! Learn about the impact of Ministry Shares on mission and ministry in Michigan and around the world.
Last Updated on June 22, 2026