By the Rev. Erick R. Olsen

“We can deal with grief by recognizing that the pain will diminish; that
there are memories to cherish.”

I was asked by Norfolk Now to write some words about Elisabeth Childs, a
precious friend and gracious soul who lived large on Norfolk’s landscape.
I regularly receive clippings from magazines and newspapers sent to me by
people who found a good word, something that touched their spirit.
Occasionally, I would get such a mailing from Elisabeth. It would arrive
with little fanfare, usually folded up with a few handwritten words to direct
me to the gem within. This correspondence was part of my glimpse into the
heart and soul of a woman who did not gush with regularity about her faith
or thoughts on God. The quote above came from a pamphlet she gave me a
few years ago, one of a few such publications printed by the Christophers, a
Christian organization who teach that each person has a God-given mission
and purpose, and that faith in action makes all the difference.
For me, knowing Elisabeth meant seeing this message in the flesh. If you
chat with folks who knew her, as most of us have been doing since she
passed away this last month, you hear about her caring concern for people of
all stripes and strata, particularly little ones. It was Elisabeth’s more private
concern for others that will define her. She was, I think, always worrying
about someone, concerned for the happiness of another, and this is more
remarkable when you consider that she knew just about everybody.
Of course, she did many public things – bringing curling to town from New
York and helping to create and sustain Meadowbrook among them. She also
served in varied ways through Church of Christ, and it seems inadequate to
simply say she was a Life Steward or pillar of the same. She loved this
particular congregation and its buildings, her weekly place near the back,
and the hymns, but she adored the people who are the church most of all and
lamented those who were missing from Sunday morning worship regularly.
I believe that she had great hopes for what the church could be, in spite of
long-winded sermons and other human imperfections – a gathering of souls
wishing to know the God of Christ more fully, seeking healing strength and
friends for the journey.

Another clipping from her came from remarks made by Groton School
chaplain Brian Fidler in 2004: “I believe the spiritual life (what you call
religion) can fix things; with the mystics I believe it is my responsibility to
help repair the brokenness of the world by being what I am and by reaching
out to others.” Even as her body endured some measure of this broken
reality, Elisabeth reached out perpetually. Even as she wondered aloud at
times about why her own life continued, she healed others simply by being –
well, by being Elisabeth.
I end this incomplete reflection on a life well-lived with words from “Blest
Be the Tie That Binds,” a hymn that our congregation uses to draw special
meetings to a close:
When we asunder part,
It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart,
And hope to meet again.