Chronic illness is exactly what it says; it is consistently vexing and continually troubling. I have lupus, a chronic autoimmune disorder that gifts me every few months with a new twist on its ramifications. Lupus’ symptoms don’t vanish with treatment, but ebb and flow depending on how diligent I am with self-care and how mercurial the progressive disease decides to be.

An old gospel chorus is buzzing in my ears today reminding me that even when I do feel lonely, God’s assurances state otherwise. The chorus goes, “No, never alone, no never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.”
In the hope drenched dewy spring morning, when I’m confronted with the birds and bees exuberantly all-a-flutter doing their thing, I sometimes experience the opposite. I instead feel a sharp stab of being an outsider, alone with chronic pain, not belonging to the riotous activities surrounding me.

I was flipping through some old journal writings and came across an entry I had written after visiting my mom in 2014 in her assisted living apartment. She had been legally blind for at least a decade, so bringing a new person to visit presented a challenge. As usual, she faced and leaped over that hurdle.