Sunday, December 27, 2009

In My Beginning . . .

Shirley Doreen Coover And David Bills Smith - my mother and father
I, Wendy Lorraine Smith Jensen was the first born to a very young couple. My father was the youngest son of my Grandma Venice and Grandpa Harry Havelock. He was a troubled soul who could at times be charming and fun. However, he struggled with anger and rage that could burst forth in frightening ways. My mother was his true love. She was a talented and dear young woman. I have been told this from many who knew them well and loved them both.

Within five quick years, my three younger brothers joined our family. We rode the emotional roller-coaster of love and abuse that many others suffer in silence. While I have been told some things from others, I have very few personal memories of my earliest years.

As a small border village, Coutts was a long ways behind the times in many aspects. Our family lived in one side of a duplex. There were three small bedrooms, a family room and a kitchen. My bedroom closet was the back of my parents closet with a passage through them. I always thought that was neat. My brothers bedroom was across the family room.

In the kitchen we had a wood cook stove and our water came by way of a water pump at the sink. On Saturdays, a tin tub would be brought into the kitchen and water heated on the stove to fill the tub for our baths. Bath water was shared by the family with the cleanest going first. We had an outhouse and fortunately for us, a chamber pot in my parents bedroom for cold winter nights. There was as yet no irrigation into the town, so yards were brown. Some families in the town had indoor plumbing but we were by no means unusual in our circumstance.

The one full memory that I have of my father's rage is one cold night when he beat my mother. He pushed her out into the cold without her clothes. I remember being very frightened. After a bit when she didn't return, he sent me out to find her and tell her to come back home. To this day I remember seeing small drops of blood in the snow as I followed her footprints to the Gibbs who lived in the other half of the duplex. They opened the door to my knock and my mother came to see me. She was dressed in Mrs. Gibbs robe. The Gibbs didn't want to let us go back. I have no idea how old I was when this happened. This is it for my personal memory of the violence - just enough for me to know it was real and not too much to overwhelm my spirit. I have been told that my life and the lives of my brothers were threatened at the point of a gun but I do not fully recall that. I have a vague memory of a man coming over the back wood fence to take a gun from my father. I have been told that he had the four of us children lined up against the wall of our home and was waving the gun in a threatening manner.

Just before I turned seven years old the violence came to an end with my father taking the life of my mother and then taking his own leaving behind four hurting children.

During the rough year that followed, my two great-aunts, Aunt Lucille Gates and Aunt Leah Rogers, were my Sunday School teachers. I don't remember many specifics from childhood church lessons, but I do recall vividly learning from these two dear souls just how precious I was to my Heavenly Father and Jesus. There is one lesson in particular that has remained sharply ingrained in my memory. One Sunday they brought a "groove board" to class. This thick board had a diagonal pattern of grooves cut into it to accommodate picture figures mounted onto wood sticks with tabs that could be supported in the groove board. As children, we loved the 3-D flannel board stories that were shared from the scriptures with the use of this teaching tool. For the lesson that day, a picture of the Savior with his shepherd's staff was centered on the board. My aunts taught of the "Good Shepherd" whose love was tender and true. They taught that he would leave the ninety and nine to seek after his lost lamb. They taught that he would lead his lambs in happy paths. For each child in the class, there was a little lamb. Something happened in my heart when I was able to put my "Wendy" lamb in Jesus' flock. I knew that I was his and I have never forgotten it. This testimony is central to all I believe.
Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth mu soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the House of the Lord for ever.
I am grateful for gospel truth. It blesses every aspect of my life. We are each and every one "dear to the heart of the Shepherd."

Why this Blog?


I begin this blog with a desire to share that which is most precious to me - my faith in my Redeemer Jesus Christ. "He is my joy and my song."

I was born into a troubled family and yet because of the love of my faithful grandmother, I had the teachings of Jesus from the earliest days of my life. Grandma Venice Orlena Bills Smith was devoted to the Gospel and a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When she and my grandfather moved to the small village of Coutts, Alberta, they found the need for a Sunday gathering to worship. Grandma went door to door and invited young people to join a community Sunday School Bible Study. This was the earliest beginning of the organization of a congregation that would grow to become the first branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Coutts. That branch was fully organized when I was born in 1952 and was truly a great blessing to me throughout my childhood.

The testimony of my grandmother, the devotion of church members I worshiped with in my youth and most importantly, the whisperings of the Spirit form the bedrock of my own sure witness that Jesus is "the way, the truth, and the life." Stories from the Old and New Testaments and The Book of Mormon were foundational to my education. Beautiful hymns, Primary songs and lessons learned under the direction of Brother Fred Oertli, Sister Fyfe, Sister Regher and others continue to sing peace to my soul through troubled times. Early on I experienced the assurance of the Spirit enlightening my mind and warming my heart. Testimony fills my being.

I feel blessed to walk in light and truth and want to share that blessing with all who desire the peace and safety that is found in the redeeming power of He who is mighty to save.

I treasure my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and marvel that I live in the day long foreseen by prophets of old - The Dispensation of the Fulness of Times. The heavens are open. A loving God directs the work of his people. I rejoice - The Lord is King.

My brother David and I ready to go to Church with Grandma 1955