Sister Englehart - One of those who was "with me" . . .

This morning for my scripture study, I was reading about prayer. I came upon this beautiful passage from Psalm 55:

"As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud; and he shall hear my voice. He hath delivered my soul in peace from the battle that was against me: for there were many with me."

As members of the Mormon Church we believe that we are all children of God, hence we are brothers and sisters. This is why Latter-day Saints refer to fellow members "Brother" or "Sister" rather than Mr. or Mrs. When trials are upon us we are there for one another.

I do not know if Sister Englehart was widowed or divorced at the time of our parents death, but I do remember she lived with her teenage son in a small home on the western end of town. She was a member of our small congregation. Some how things were arranged for her to take care of us immediately following the death of our parents. As a true disciple of Christ, Sister Englehart was there the very instant we needed her. I remember her tenderness during those difficult days as well as her boldness as she took a strong stand and turned away the RCMP when she felt a need to protect Dennis.

I am not sure how long we were with Sister Englehart but I sense it was at least a couple of weeks. She moved away before I was old enough to know her well. I am grateful for her. I hope she knows that. While I cannot remember her face, I remember her love. She was the first of many who saw me through difficult days. I don't imagine I had said my prayers before going to bed until that first night with Sister Englehart.

Ready for church - This was taken soon after our parents death before we were with our grandparents. We are in Sister Englehart's yard south of the house. Dean is in front, behind him David,. I am in the center with Dennis is on my left.

That Day - September 20, 1959

My Uncle Don and Aunt Norma Stanford have been a strength to me throughout my life.

A treasured memory from my teen years is our early morning seminary car pool. For Latter-day Saint youth, school mornings began with an early morning scripture study class. My then adopted father, would drive a large station wagon filled with Coutts ninth-twelfth grade students to join with the Milk River youth for our class twelve miles north. He would then wait for the ninth graders to take them back to Coutts for Junior High while the rest of us would make our way to the High School in Milk River to continue our school day.

One cold morning, my cousin Jessie was running late. Her mother had fixed her an amazing piece of toast with her homemade apple butter slathered generously over it and handed it to her as she ran out the door. She piled in with the rest of us for our early morning drive. The fragrance filled the car and called out to me. You have to have tasted my Aunt Norma's apple butter to have any concept of how truly wonderful it was. I pleaded with Jessie to ask Aunt Norma for a piece for me the next morning. You can imagine my delight when early the next day I had my own delicious bit of love disguised as toast and apple butter. This worked out well until everyone wanted some. I don't think even Aunt Norma could have made enough to feed the world and so it all came to an end. What a dear memory for me.

Some seven to eight years earlier, Sunday September 20, 1959 dawned and progressed as usual for a Sabbath. It was the beginning of my last month as a six-year old and the day was beautiful. A sweater was all that was needed for comfort. As was our way, my grandmother took me to Sunday School where I was blessed to sing songs of Jesus and learn of his love for me. In those days, Priesthood meeting was early in the morning followed by Sunday School. We would go home after Sunday School for dinner and a quiet afternoon with family. Sacrament meeting began at 6:00 p.m. and went until 7:30 p.m. (Primary, youth activity nights and Relief Society Meetings were held on weekdays.)

After Sunday School that clear and crisp autumn day, I was given permission to go with my cousin Jessie to spend the afternoon. We happily skipped across the street to the Stanford home in anticipation of time together. After a lunch, my Uncle Don and Aunt Norma settled in for a bit of a nap while Jessie and I played. I really can't remember what we were doing, but our play was interrupted by a phone call. We could hear Uncle Don in the bedroom answer the phone and exclaim, "Oh dear God." There was quick quiet talk between him and Aunt Norma, before they called to tell me I needed to go home right away.

Jessie and I pleaded to have more time but Uncle Don was adamant. We begged him to let her to walk me the two and a half blocks home. "Not today," was his firm reply. We persisted in our efforts and Jessie was allowed to walk to Stutsman's corner with me on the promise that she would turn around and come immediately back home before we made it all the way to the corner. The Stutsman family lived on a corner a half block east and one block south of Stanfords and one block west, one block north of my home. Still unaware of the impending doom, we began our walk. Just before the corner, Jessie turned and headed back home while I continued forward alone.

There was a lot of commotion outside of my house. Sister Englehart's large car was there. As I approached, I saw my brothers with blankets thrown over their heads being carried out of the house. When I was spotted, I was quickly put into the car along with David, Dennis and Dean. What was happening? I don't remember who was there besides Sister Englehart but I do remember the heavy sense of sadness and nervous energy that seemed to engulf everyone. Where were my mom and dad? Why were we being taken away?

Sister Englehart lived with her teenage son in a house on the far west end of town. After arriving there, we spent a strange afternoon - one of confusion for me. Care had to be taken so that my baby brother Dean would not be burned on the hot floor heating grate. He was too little to understand the danger and so we were told to watch him closely as things were put around the grate to block it off. In my mind I seem to remember he did burn his hand before we were aware of the need to protect him from it but that is so vague to my thinking that I am not sure.

The RCMP were respected as officers of the law. Why did they keep coming to talk to my brother Dennis? That evening they came one too many times, and I remember Sister Englehart telling them in no uncertain terms that they had all they needed from "that child" and she would not let them talk to him again.

At some point later in the afternoon or evening I was told that my mom and dad were in heaven. I really couldn't comprehend the finality of it all. Sister Englehart helped us say our prayers and tucked us in bed. I remember the tears in her eyes as she sat there with us. What was happening? That confusing Sunday came to a sad end as I dropped into an exhausted sleep.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED: My life changed forever when my father took the life of my mother as she lay on her bed and then turned the gun on himself. My brothers had been put to bed for naps. Four-year old David and one-year old Dean were asleep through it all. Three-year old Dennis witnessed the great tragedy from his bedroom door which was across from my parents bedroom. I did not know what had happened until some time later as I recorded December 27, 2009 in Blog Post "Why Now?"

Some have questioned, "Why now?"

The truths of life can be sometimes difficult but I firmly believe that "the truth shall make you free." [John 8:32]

Jesus spoke these words to Pharisees who had challenged him with the law in regards to a woman taken in adultery. When Jesus responded "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her" . . . they were convicted in their hearts and one by one left Jesus alone with the woman. Jesus then comforted her and urged her to "go and sin no more." He did not deny her sin or pretend it didn't matter but encouraged her forward into the light. [John 8]

According to John, the Savior then spoke again to the Pharisees, testifying that he was "the light of the world." He told them that that those who followed him would "not walk in darkness, but have the light of life." These men were confident in the fact that they were descendants of Abraham. For them that was enough. They did not desire judgment that was true or in the light. They did not desire personal accountability or any personal understanding that could lead them to faithfully rely on redemption through the Son of God. Indeed their "hidden" lusts would bring them to the point of crucifying the very one who would save them.

John also recorded an exchange between Nicodemus and Jesus in which Jesus taught principles of baptism and the need to be born of water and of the spirit. I love the 3rd Chapter of John! Christ continues the teaching, testifying that it was the love of the Father that sent him to redeem and save. He spoke directly to my soul when he declared "he that doeth truth cometh to the light."

In John 16 we read of Jesus lovingly preparing his apostles for his death. The reality of what was to come was difficult for them to comprehend. He told them that the Holy Ghost would guide them "into all truth." He acknowledged their coming sorrow and told them their "sorrow [would] be turned into joy."

I am sensitive to the fact that there were many who suffered in the tragedy of our family. While I have shared some of the details of my life on occasion, I have previously not written much of it. I know that these things are painful for others and I do not want to needlessly burden anyone. However, now is the time to record the story. In family life, the impact of what is past affects us. Often children and grandchildren grapple with residual challenges without information that could help them move forward in light through the power of the Savior to heal and strengthen. Understanding can lead to wisdom and wisdom to forgiveness. While crippling family injuries can be overcome, you cannot properly mend that which you do not know needs mending.

I was very fortunate to stay in the community that suffered along with me as I came to terms with what was real. I count this as one of the greatest blessings of my life. I returned to my 2nd Grade class at Coutts Village School a couple of weeks after the deaths of my parents. I am not sure if we were still living with with Sister Englehart who took care of us for a time or if we were already with our Grandparents. On my first day back to school I passed a third grader in the hall at recess time. She stopped and turned and pointed at me and said, "Oh. You're the one whose father . . ." I knew that my parents were gone but I did not know what had happened until that moment.

The floor cannot open and swallow you whole. You cannot will yourself to disappear. I managed to hide in the bathroom for a while as I began to struggle with the tragic truth. I will never forget the impact of that quick declaration. It was brutal. However, from that moment on I was able to begin the work of dealing with what was real. Someone had gone to alert an adult about my plight. Before long I had an arm around me as I sobbed through my pain. I do not remember the name of my comforter. She was one of the many dear souls in my life who expressed God's love through kind and gentle words and actions. Somehow I made it back to school the next day and the next and the next. I know there were many prayers given in my behalf and they were answered often through the goodness of another person.

Knowing what happened was and is a great blessing. I love both my mother and my father very much. What I know of them is real and my love for them is founded in truth. I still feel sadness for their sadness. I am filled with compassion for their sorrows. Again I trust in the power of the Savior to succor their needs. I honor my father and mother in my efforts to live to my fullest potential and trust that my weak efforts will be magnified through the Atonement. Christ's perfection will overcome my weakness.

In the book of Psalms, David prays "Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shall make me to know wisdom." [Psalm 51:6]

Getting "real" is important for happy living. We just need to understand and know what to do with difficult realities. The restored gospel of Jesus Christ lights our way. Jesus overcame the world. [John 16:33] This truth is the center of all I know and feel. In light I can deal with all the truths of my life - good and bad. For Wendy Jensen, the promise of "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;" is real. [Isaiah 61] I value every day of my life including the painful days of long ago. The struggle for the peace I feel has been monumental. All those who love me have shared in the realities of that struggle. There are children and nieces and nephews who need the opportunity to gain understanding as light breaks through the darkness of their own confusion. I write to fill in the blanks for them.

Last week a dear friend who I admire very much came to me to share her story of painful childhood memories. She is a generous and remarkable woman who brings a lot of happiness to those of us who know her. We know what it is to survive childhood trauma and thrive. We are not alone. I write for those who have felt bound and shamed by things they have suffered through no fault of their own. I write for those who bear the burdens alone, afraid to share and offend or turn someone away. I write of hope in Christ. Life is a blessing.

I pray that somehow my story will help each and every reader see the many good souls in their own lives - those who in truth represent the love of God through their good, kind and compassionate ways. These dear ones are not perfect in their expressions and yet they do not back away from the opportunities to lighten the burdens of another. I write in gratitude for those who were my rescuers.

Children who live through difficult childhoods can feel shame and the threat of being dismissed as broken or tainted can be overwhelming. I write to open the eyes of those who do not know how to handle sad realities experienced by others. It is uncomfortable to know difficult things. It can be frightening when we don't know what we could possibly do. I write for those who would minister the needs of another. I write that God's love may be manifest in the way we love and give.

Background - My Father, David Bills Smith . . .

[Note: In 1965, I was adopted by my father David's older brother Harry. When I talk of my mom and dad, I am talking about Harry and Viola Smith. When I refer to my birth parents, I call them my mother and father.] Harry Havelock Smith and Venice Orlena Bills Smith were excitedly looking forward to the birth of their third child, however, this pregnancy with was a very stressful time. Their oldest son Harry developed polio and was very sick for an extended period. Thankfully Grandpa's niece, Lucille Stanford, was available to come and care for young Harry throughout the ordeal. With her desperately ill son under strict quarantine, Grandma could only visit occasionally looking through the window of the one room cabin Lucille and Harry lived in. In order to protect the life that grew within her, a young mother had to be cut off from caring for her oldest son who fought for life. Young Harry was restored to health and David Bills Smith was born 9 September, 1934 in Sweetgrass, Montana.

Venice Orlena Bills Smith and her son David

Brothers Harry, David and Neil Smith

This third son was active and bright. Family members tell of how difficult it was to keep an eye on the busy toddler. There were times of anxiety when the whole town searched for the boy who could disappear in an instant. Grandma told of a specific incident when the family had a dairy farm. David had seemingly vanished into thin air. Many from the small community frantically searched. Some time later, they found him sound asleep hidden amid  the loaded milk cans in a delivery cart.

Without the protection of a fenced yard and entirely without fear, David could be gone and in great danger in a quick moment. Ingenuity was employed as Grandpa and Grandma rigged up a halter for their toddler and had it fastened to a pulley clothesline. This gave him freedom to explore and yet tethered him safely at home.

Visiting Cousins in Stavely, Alberta 1938: In Front Left to Right - Bernice & June Orr, Lois Rogers, David Bills Smith, Thelma Libbert with Jessie Stanford in back holding Helen Rogers.

My brother Dale (from my adoptive family) remembers our dad Harry telling him of times when David as a young child was asleep on the floor of the office with his mother busy at work. I find this not so different from other families who struggle to make ends meet or get a business going. The truth of the matter is that all good moms and dads do the best they can to meet their children's needs. I also know that in spite of the love Grandma and Grandpa had for their youngest son, David was a handful from the time he was born.

Grade 2 - David is in front 2nd from the left

David in the center with his cousins Ted, Shirley and Keith Smith

David (on right) with a friend

My grandparents Custom's Brokerage business had offices in Kingsgate B.C. and Calgary, Alberta as well as in Coutts. When I was young, I went on a trip to Calgary with my Grandma. She had a studio apartment above the office in which she stayed while attending business there. Once the brokerage was purchased, both Grandpa and Grandma worked hard to make it work. Finally they would have success in providing for their family. However, Grandma was often gone from Coutts while Grandpa remained at home to manage the head office on the border. Teenage David of necessity due to school, remained home with his dad.

David Bills Smith

David and Shirley Doreen Coover became young sweethearts and seemed to rely on each another early on. A close friend of my mother Shirley reports "David and Shirley had too much time on their hands and perhaps too little supervision during the critical years of their youth." She remembers they would often skip school together with the parents being unaware they were off on their own. Shirley was being raised by her paternal grandmother and her alcoholic father. Her mother had deserted her and her father when she was a toddler.

David with his mother and father Venice and Havelock Smith

I have the sense that Grandpa and Grandma Smith were often confronted with overwhelming difficulties raising David. As a teenager he was willful and difficult to reign in. They worried about what they felt was too deep of a connection for David and Shirley while they were so young. In an effort to intercede in a positive way, they sent their son to live with family in Utah where he was enrolled at BYU High School. They had hopes this opportunity would give him time to grow up a bit more. David attended school in Provo for almost two full school years but before the two years with him returning to Coutts for holidays and summer vacation. Before his 2nd school year was complete, David called home to say he was done and would not finish. Grandpa pleaded with him to reconsider and told him he and his brother Harry would immediately be on their way to see him. Before Grandpa and Harry reached Provo, David had already arrived back in Coutts He had hitch-hiked the 750 miles home.

David and Shirley were married May 9, 1952, very soon following his return to Coutts. I was born October 19, 1952.

David Bills Smith