Elizabeth Vangelder was born in 1929 in the city of Bellingham Washington. She was born with a Nuchal Cord, where the umbilical cord is wrapped around the neck one or more times. As a result, she was born with brain damage and cerebral palsy which led to intellectual disabilities and developmental delays. Although she could walk as a child, in her later years she was confined to a wheelchair bed, her back twisted, her wrists atrophied, unable to straighten, unable to eat, dress or use the bathroom without the help of an aide. Every day she would be parked on the front porch of Needhams Rest home alone to watch the world go by. Though people would walk up and say hello, they would quickly leave when they realized that though she was smart, due to the cerebral palsy she could not talk in a language they could understand.
I had a friend named Angie who lived not far from Needhams. Angie was 18. Every Sunday she would walk from her home in the morning to her church to teach Sunday School. The route passed the front porch of Needhams. One day as she passed, she noticed the wheelchair bed, a woman’s face and eyes that were following her. God asked her to stop.
Angie became a wonderful friend to Elizabeth. She had the gift of being able to love the unlovely. Sunday mornings she would stop by Needhams and push Elizabeth the half mile to church so she could enjoy the music, hear the message and make new friends. Elizabeth was 44 years old at that time. It was important to Angie that Elizabeth feel beautiful, worthy as a friend and someone who was worthy of her time. Two months later an accident took Angie’s life.
Sometimes to honor a person’s life, God asks you to be a living memorial to the things they stood for. As an 18-year-old boy who had just lost a friend and was dealing with grief, I was struggling. Then one day I drove by Needhams Rest home and there on the porch was Elizabeth whom I had yet to meet. I stopped the car and walked to her as she followed me with her eyes.
“Hi, my name is Marty.”
She said something back, but I couldn’t understand her speech from the cerebral palsy. After I explained who I was and how we both knew Angie, I felt God saying, “This is how you can be a living memorial.” Taking her hand, I said to Elizabeth, “From now on, everything that Angie was to you, I will be.”
For the next thirteen years, every weekend was an adventure. Elizabeth, myself and all my friends would go places she could never have imagined going. We would pick up her bed, one on the front and one on the back and carry her like the Queen of the Nile into the mountains and down to the beach. We had a step van which we fitted with tie downs to secure the bed and we’d drive to ice cream shops in other towns and every Sunday to church. Even older adults who didn’t know her would grab a side of the bed to help me get her down flights of stairs. I became very good at understanding her speech and would gladly act as a translator, helping her to communicate with strangers.
In 1986 due to declining health, Elizabeth passed away to the Kingdom of Heaven. Finally, she was free of her wheelchair bed. Finally, she could run and jump and talk clearly. Finally, she could once again see Angie. Finally, a new perfect body. As for the old body, I had the honor and privilege of carrying it to her grave.
To love the unlovely. I find that there is beauty or something of worth in every person if you take the time to see it. The loss would have been mine had I not stopped to meet the little lady in the wheelchair bed at Needhams and to find that inside of her crippled body was a beautiful soul waiting to get out.
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