Lately, I have been thinking about an amazing woman who lived in Juneau many years ago. Her name was Ellen Campbell. In reflecting on her life and good work, I have come to believe she was a saint.
One definition of a saint is a “holy one,” someone who is set apart for God’s holy purpose. Ellen would have laughed out loud at that title as she regularly joked that as a staid Episcopalian, she was one of the “frozen chosen.”
When I first met Ellen back in the 1990s, I thought she must be fake! Who smiles with such glorious joy every time she meets someone? Who connected with so many different people and drew them into a deeper spiritual life? Who had that “Southern charm” that belied a steely resolve to lift up the poor and the marginalized?
Thirty-five years ago, I was dealing with a very real possibility of cancer. Ellen asked if the night before my procedure, she could come over to my apartment with her prayer partner for a blessing. I agreed, even though it felt weird and awkward. When she anointed me with holy oil, I felt nothing. In some ways, I thought I was doing it for Ellen. I was relieved when they left.
So, you can imagine my private shock when the doctor reviewed my biopsy results and was perplexed but pleased that on this go-round, mysteriously, there was not one cancerous cell. Everything was clear. And it has remained that way ever since.
Perhaps it’s the state of our country and world today that has me reflecting on this memory. You see, it took me years to even consider that what happened was a miracle. That awkward prayer and anointing, which seemed like nothing, was perhaps everything.
Thanks to Ellen, I now believe there are miracles everywhere if we just open our eyes. From a chance conversation that brings hope to a stranger or a singular moment of joy standing still in the verdant forest to sharing resources freely and caring for oneself. With our open eyes, we recognize that we are miracles of life, capable of love and being loved. And I don’t mean the Hallmark sentimental kind of love. I mean the Ellen Campbell kind of love.
She ministered to women in Lemon Creek Correctional Center. For years, she dreamed of creating a safe space for incarcerated female prisoners to be in a supportive community home upon their release. The backlash was severe, but Ellen persevered, and Haven House came to fruition. Thanks to Tlingit and Haida, it remains viable today. Ellen formed a coalition of support to make it happen. She spoke truth to power.
Ellen was no typical Southern belle but a former World War II military pilot who ferried planes from the factory to Fairbanks for the Russians to use. After the war, this veteran of the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) applied to be a stewardess. American Airlines refused to hire Ellen because she was too tall. I was astounded when she shared that story with me.
Because of Ellen, I now believe there are saints among us who walk unseen today. They may have been dealt with unfairly because of their race, gender, and time in history. But like Ellen, they do what they can, where they can, with love. Sometimes, I pray to Ellen for another miracle–to give me strength, a ready smile, a willing heart, and eyes to see what is truly happening around me today. And I pray that her hotline to God is still very much in play.
• Claire Richardson is a hospice chaplain and grief coach in Juneau.
