Grammy Thoughts

The Brother of Jared
by Arnold Friberg

I am just completing another study of the Book of Ether in the Book of Mormon. I love this book. It is a very abbreviated run through of from about 2000 years of history of a people. I love how the Lord led them to a promised land. Their journey across the ocean is such a metaphor for the Plan of Salvation. I have found that the light placed in my vessel - the light of Christ has seen me through some very remarkable times. Times when the waves were massive and would crash upon me with great force but I strive to keep myself "tight like a dish" fighting to keep the things of the world that will impair my spirit out of my thoughts and life. If you have ever seen a fowl upon the water bobbing up and down in peace, you can get the meaning of that image in the book.

Another aspect of the Book of Ether that I deeply value is the exposure of "Secret Combinations."  Truly this is a book written for our day. It answers questions like "Who is behind secret combinations?" and "How do secret combinations operate?"and "What is the over arching intent behind a secret combination? and "How do those who get fooled by the lies of a secret combination get caught up in the evil of the combination?" and "Can an immoral man do good for his country?" The story of Morianton has remarkable application today.

As you may know, I am an avid reader and student of history. Over the years I have learned how these things play out again and again. After all, the battle for the souls of men and the destruction of freedom began in the pre-mortal life and will continue throughout the ages of mortal life. As I have studied scriptures and biographies of everyday men and women as well as some not so everyday men and women who have been through very difficult days, I have come to appreciate more fully the truth of my personal freedom - a freedom I have received from a loving Father in Heaven who like all good parents has dreams for his children and desires for them to achieve every good thing and for them to receive every blessing of eternity. I have learned how to navigate through rough waters appreciating there is great purpose to the rough seas. Because of my free will choice to get on board, I will be steered to the promised land. I will be strengthened and enlightened throughout my journey. The reality is that my life has been and will be tough but there is great purpose to it all. I am a learning growing daughter of God with aspirations to become truer and truer with each wave that crashes upon me.

Please read the Book of Ether and share your insights with me. Be strengthened against the deceptions and pulls of the one who seeks to take you captive. Do not fear. Be faithful. Light your vessel with a light that will not fail. As you determine to have God guide you along, you will find peace amidst the trials and challenges you will face. You will know you are never alone. You will be able to endure the sneers of those who disdain or demean your views with confidence in prayers answered and guidance received.

I love you each and every one with a depth I am not sure I can express. I have dreams for you as you make your own ways forward. I yearn for your happiness. You are in my prayers and heartfelt thoughts.

Learn about the deceptive tactics of the evil one and be on guard. I have found time and again that when there isn't a clear way forward for me, Heavenly Father will give me guidance and direction often in a way quite contrary to what I expected. I have learned to not lean on the arm of flesh (especially my own) but to rely on the Gift of the Holy Ghost which is abundantly given. Sometimes I cannot see the full distance of the path before me but there is always the next step I can take.

I cannot overcome for you but the Savior can and will be with and by you if you so choose. And you can do all good and building and meaningful growing things through Christ who will never forsake his child. He knows you. He perfectly understands your struggles. He loves you with a deeper love than is humanly possible. Take your

clear "rocks" to the Lord and let Him touch them one by one that you may cross the great deep with light. 

Lead Kindly Light
by Simon Dewey

My Blog was lost so here we go again . . .

You may note that my blog is missing the many pictures it had. I lost the entire blog BUT thanks to one of my wonderful son-in-laws who archived it, I was able to retrieve the written word. Over then next couple of months, I will add the other four lost posts and begin the process of re-adding the rest of the pictures. I will then begin again to write my history in the hopes that it will be a blessing to my children and grand children as well as so many of you who have had such a remarkable impact on my life.

Two of Three Go to War, One Never to Return . . .

Grandpa and Grandma Smith's three sons, my dad Harry, my father David, and my Uncle Neil Lauritz Smith.

A few years back I was sitting with Claigh in the dollar theater in our St. Charles community watching the World War II movie "Memphis Belle." As a scene of a fierce air battle unfolded, they showed a young gunner sitting in the bubble under the rear of the plane. The plane was shot down. The tears flowed as I was filled with deep sadness and a small sense of just what my Uncle Neil experienced at the young age of eighteen. For the next few days, I thought of my Grandma Venice and Grandpa Havelock and wondered at their anguish when they received word that their boy was shot down over Germany.

On September 10, 1939, the Canadian Parliament declared war on the German Reich. World War II left it's mark on many families throughout the world. My Grandpa and Grandma sent two sons to war.

Harry Havelock Bills Smith III and brother Neil Lauritz Smith

The first of the brothers to enlist was Harry who enlisted in the Canadian Armed Forces July 31, 1943. He was soon followed by Neil who enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force on August 18, 1943. Underage but determined and with his father's permission, Neil made his way to Calgary. Only 17 1/2 years old, he was the youngest boy to enlist from Coutts. In a short seven months he received his wings and Sargent stripes. In April 1944 he left for Europe after a visit home to see his family. Harry was home during the same time. This would be the last Grandpa and Grandma would have their three sons together in this life. Neil served as the Mid-Upper Gunner in a Lancaster Bomber

My Uncle Neil's flight crew - In this photo, Neil is in the front row on the right.

Much to his dismay, Harry's service was more of a supportive role for those on the field of battle. Due to a severe case of Polio as a child, his arms were weak. He was only 5' 2 3/4" tall and weighed 190 pounds. While noting his weight and physical limitations, "determined", "thoroughly conscientious", "persistent", "can be depended upon", "an excellent chap", "pleasing personality", "straightforward", "cooperative", "first rate man", "intelligent", "thoroughly capable", "with much ability", "quite ambitious", "disappointed at his allocation [but] his attitude is excellent", "highly regarded by other men in his platoon" are direct quotes from various reviews in his military record.

In England Harry served for some time as a clerk before becoming a driver with the Army Corp of Engineers. While he was in areas that were bombed, he never saw battle. He did suffer night terrors recreating his experience "under fire" throughout his life. Dale reports that one time when he was playing with toy soldiers, creating bomb sounds, Dad told him just how terrifying it was to hear bombs falling. This was a rare admission by dad. We can remember his telling us often with a twinkle in his eye, "I won the Battle of the Bulge single-handed. When the Germans saw me coming over the hill, they died laughing." Like many of the men who went to war, he did not burden us with the horrors he saw.

Stationed at an airbase, Harry drove a large gravel truck. It was his responsibility to fill in bomb craters and keep runways in good repair. After Canadian forces liberated Holland, Harry was transferred to aid in the liberation of POW camps. He drove ambulance. He felt great concern that they avoid bumps and jarring due to the suffering of the ones they were transporting and the need to keep them as stable as possible. This was no easy task with the condition of the war damaged roads. Perhaps the most frightening experience Dad had during his war service was when his ambulance was separated from the main convoy. It all ended well but there were some tense moments before he made his way back to the camp.

The time in Europe made strong impressions upon dad. I remember him talking of devastated landscape, empty department stores, the starving people and the "black" bread that was tough to eat because of the un-milled seed. The soldiers were well fed. Dad could trade his cigarette rations for candy for the Dutch children or eggs for a German family he tried to help. While he did what he could, he felt the sadness of being able to do so little to alleviate the suffering. [For as long as I can remember, Dad and Mom were diligent in storing a years worth of food and supplies. This was not about hoarding but being prepared. And it was not about just being prepared for ourselves, but for any around us who had a need.]

In the meantime, November 16, 1944 found Neil's Lancaster in the skies over Düren, Germany. In one day the city of Düren was completely destroyed by Allied air bombings leaving approximately 3,000 residents dead. Casualties of the Allied forces were few. Uncle Neil's bomber was hit by anti-aircraft fire from the ground and crashed that day.

Just over a year later, Harry made his way by train to Düren in hopes of verifying his brother's death. It is possible that he had received a copy of a report issued in October The local Germans and possibly the American soldiers stationed there were very helpful and were able to guide him to the site. The plane had come down near a military barracks surrounded by flack guns. It is likely these were the guns that hit the Lancaster.

According to official reports, one body was left intact in the plane which was later identified as Sargent Leaman. It is unclear who buried the remains of the rest of the crew in three graves but it is believed that the graves were marked by American forces and reported to the British. Dad found some small bones and teeth in the wreckage and buried them along side the graves. He recorded numbers that were visible on parts of the wreckage to be used as identifiers. According to Mom, Harry tenderly set stones around the graves of the crew and spent quiet time alone reflecting on the loss of his younger brother. He took this photograph for his mother and father. Later the remains were removed to the Rheinberg War Cemetery in Germany. It wasn't until Jan 6, 1950 that the military confirmed that Dad had correctly identified the site.

While in Europe, Harry also located graves for two other Alberta boys, taking pictures for their families. I am confident this was a blessing to those grieving the loss of sons.

Harry was discharged 2 August 1946. He received the France and Germany Star, the Canadian Volunteer Service Medal with Clasp, and the War Medal 1939-1945.

War is such an ugly thing. The evil and lust for power that exists in the hearts of some will bring them before the judgment bar of a just God. They will be held to account for the destruction they cause. They will feel the full weight of the anguish they brought upon others. They will be left to themselves.

I am grateful for good men who give their all for the cause of freedom. Some like my Grandpa and Grandma sacrifice sons and daughters. Some lose brothers or sisters. Others lose fathers and mothers. Perhaps the greatest sacrifices are the ones made by brave men and women like my Uncle Neil. He gave away his future in a freedom fight for others.

As the world becomes darker and more distant from the God who created her, I too want to be on the front lines of freedom fighters. I may never face a gun battle but I know the fight with sin is real and I pray for the strength and guidance to meet each day strong in the cause of truth and liberty.

I pray none of my grandchildren will ever see war but if the cause is just and they must, may they will be armed and ready. I hope they live today becoming selfless men and women of honor. I pray are firm in the faith of their fathers as they grow in wisdom and spiritual power. May they ever stand firm in their individual places as ones who love God and his children and follow the example of the righteous Nephites and their worthy leader Chief Captain Moroni. [Alma 48]

There are times when we must face a fight. It is critical that we know when those times are and that we are prepared to stand with those who would defend the rights and freedoms of God's children wherever they are and in whatever circumstance they live. The greatest opportunities to declare freedom are in the opportunities to testify of the power of redemption through the Lord Jesus Christ. We must be in tune with the Spirit to know our place and our time.

To know the love of God is for me the greatest of blessings for perfect love casteth out fear. [1 John 4:18] Did Uncle Neil remember the love and the testimonies of his mother and father as he fell from the sky to his death? Did he feel the assurance that he was in the hands of God? I hope so.

I have confidence in a loving Father in Heaven and in my Savior Jesus Christ. I want my children and grandchildren to share in that confidence as they make their way through the challenges of life.

My favorite celebrate "freedom" Praise:

Let Freedom Ring

A day of celebration takes me back to remember my brother Dean . . .

For me, this wonderful day of celebration for Liberty Blessings so abundant in America began with a gathering of 150 Idaho Falls citizens on the front lawn of a dear friend's home. The festivities began with a welcome from our hostess, Sheila Olsen. Years ago, when her husband died, her friends and neighbors erected a flag pole in her yard as a memorial. Sheila is an amazing woman who continues to do much to bless this community. She is a great patriot.

Ali and Christina Christensen from America's Got Talent's top 10, 2010 were present. Their dad began by stressing that being a patriot was to be a good neighbor and loving and serving in our communities, state and nation.

Ali and Christina then sang "Temporary Home." While these words beautifully written refer to the temporary nature of our home here on earth, for me it brought to mind one of my deepest heartaches. I really have enjoyed such powerful and incredible healing from childhood traumas, but every once in awhile, something reaches into the deepest part of my soul and brings me to tears.

Following my parents death, my brothers and I lived for five years with our grandparents. At the death of our grandfather the four of us were moved into various foster homes throughout Alberta. Within that year, my placement failed and I was back in Coutts with my Uncle Harry and Aunt Viola. They adopted me when I was thirteen. In spite of all of the difficulties of those years as a teenager with my "new mom and dad," I was no longer "temporary." It was tough for them and for me BUT I can't stress enough the blessing of "belonging" even though it took me many many years to truly comprehend that belonging.

Personal heartache - My three younger brothers were not so soon settled. They too had good souls in their lives and some really not so good. I was honestly not very aware of their personal challenges until I was well into my adult life. Once separated, we had very little contact with each other thus it was difficult to know or support one another.

Years later, while living in St. Louis with our very young family of five daughters, I got a call from some agency in Denver, Colorado to inform me that my youngest brother Dean had passed away. He was only 38 years old. Dean had moved to Denver and married a third time. As with his other marriages, this marriage failed. It had been a long time since we had knowledge of where he was and how he was doing.

Dean Edward Smith January 10, 1957 - August 1995

Some background - Dean was only 1 1/2 years old when our parents died. He was the most tender soul I have ever known. His heart was good to the core but broken in ways it is hard to explain. Unlike me, he didn't grow up with "family truth" and as a young man struggling to understand what was wrong with him and his world, slowly bits of the truth seeped into his life. What he had always believed had been a lie and as he came to know some of the facts surrounding the death of his mother and father, he felt very betrayed. (Hard truth is always preferable for someone overcoming trauma than some sweet "save them from the truth" well intentioned efforts to protect. This is my own thinking and it comes from personal experience. I do not think rose colored glasses are helpful but I do believe in Pollyanna's Glad Game. There is a difference! We can only see the blessings along the way if we know the truth of our circumstances. Otherwise all is confusion and no matter how hard we try, it is very difficult if not impossible to function in the real world.)

One of the "temporary" of this world, Dean's last foster placement failed when he was just 16 years old. He was emancipated at that young age and there was no place for him to go. He began to try and cover his aching with the use of drugs and alcohol. At the time, I was a young mom of a two small children and an apartment manager of apartments for young women college students. This was the first experience away from home for many of these girls. Needless to say I had my hands full and yet after thorough discussion, my student husband and I invited Dean to come and live with us in Rexburg, Idaho. I wanted so badly to fill his life with love and belonging.

Dean had a keen intellect and was a math whiz. We had hopes for his future as he was enrolled in the community high school. However, things grew impossible very quickly. When he approached me with information about our mother and father's death, he was shocked to find out I already knew everything. He felt betrayed by me. His rage was hard to bear. He had grown up with a false narrative. This I did not know until that day.

No matter how much you love someone, sometimes you fall so far short of what you hope to be and do. Dean left with us not knowing for sometime where he was.

Over the following years, Dean's inherit desire for goodness and I can state truthfully, his love of God would bring him again and again to struggle against his demons. His first wife and her family were the salt of the earth. They loved him and were genuinely good to him. He had a beautiful daughter who he cherished with all of his heart.

Sadly, I never meet Dean's second wife, Anne Paquet or his son who was born the day after my last daughter was born. I have had some opportunity to talk to Anne and once again sense that Dean was blessed with another good woman who hoped to be a strength to him. As for Dean's son Derek, I hope one day to meet this young man of whom his father spoke so dearly. Dean loved his boy and was so proud of him.

For my brother, his inability to hold it together to be the dad he wanted to be for his children was perhaps his greatest sense of defeat. I want his daughter and son to know that Aunt Wendy speaks truth and this is truth. Their dad loved them more than life itself. What he did not know was that he was loveable and so much more than temporary.

Sometimes the breaking of the human spirit is so deep that healing process extends into the eternities. Part of our being disciples of Christ is to comprehend this and sense His mercy for those whom he truly understands and suffered greatest for. As we place our faith in Jesus, we gain capacity to know that the day of healing will come for the one we love and for ourselves because the power is in our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. There is great purpose in all we suffer through this fallen world. In the end all things will work together for those who love the Lord.

When the call came from Denver in August 1995, I learned that police had found Dean's wife Judy who told them he had a sister in the St. Louis area. Thankfully they were able to locate me. My husband and I quickly made arrangements for our daughters to be cared for and headed for Colorado. They held the body for me to have one last opportunity to kiss my little brother's cheek. He looked so old and frail. It was almost more than I could bear. I found that Dean had lived homeless, my 38 year old brother made pocket change returning luggage carts to their stalls at the airport. They said he died of alcohol poisoning.

During our brief time at the mortuary, a woman came into the room to pay her respects. She too was homeless with all the anguish of life's cruelest hurts etched into her face. She met Dean at a soup kitchen. Over the brief time she knew Dean she told him of the devastation she felt when her young daughter was raped. At that point, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a small inexpensive cross pendant that he had found on the ground somewhere and kept for comfort. He gave it to her and told her Jesus loved her and could help. She took the dented pendant from her pocket and gently showed it to me. It was now a source of comfort for her. This story reveals the true heart of my brother. I love him.

We left the funeral home, Dean's remains were cremated and the next day we gathered on a mountain in south Colorado owned by Judy's family. A brother-in-law told us that when Dean was on the mountain, he was at peace, away from a world that troubled him greatly. He would sleep under the stars and "rest."

Dean's ashes were scattered to the wind but his soul was now in the arms of God. The day was sunny with a cooling breeze gently caressing my cheeks. Some of us walked a ways down the other side of mountain to the old rail depot, no longer used. In the distance we heard the whistle of an historic train that continues to run. We looked further down and across to the mountain on the north to see the train winding its way through the pristine landscape, steam curling from the smoke stack. This was a sight that Dean loved. It was a comforting moment for me.

This past three years, I have been feeling out of place again. All of the girls are raised and moving forward building their own families. How I love my daughters, my wonderful son-in-laws and dear, dear grandchildren. I miss having them close at hand. I also miss teaching seminary and institute. The students from almost 25 years of teaching still hold a special place in my heart. Health challenges have slowed me down and given me lots of time to reflect and wonder at "what's next" for me. I have felt a bit of a loss in purpose.

Perhaps the message of "Temporary Home" hit me differently than many others. We need not wait to feel permanence until we see again the face of God at our death. Knowing who we are and why we are are critical to happy life. I want to be more actively involved in working with children who are hurting.

God lives and loves each and every "one." The power of healing is real. We are blessed to be able to prayerfully seek out those in need and under a loving Heavenly Father's direction, serve as the hands of heaven on earth. Life is a blessing - bumps, bruises and all. God's promises are sure. For now, I trust.

For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. - Romans 8:14-18 KJV

"Temporary Home"

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

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