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."