B00AEDDPVE EBOK (29 page)

Thinking that they had become impatient, she and the boys started to move toward the merry-go-round, calling out my girls’ names. She checked the lines for the ride and circled the entire area several times. Then she began to worry that the girls might have returned to where they had been standing near the roller coaster, and so she hurried the boys back in that direction. That was when she decided that she needed help. She called me and then alerted the first security guard she could find.

As soon as I hung up the phone, I felt sick to my stomach. Adrenaline was coursing through my body as my mind imagined every mother’s horrible fear of kidnapping and worse. It was especially overwhelming because it was a foreign country where I didn’t know the area at all or even speak the language. I called my brother Merrill, who was already en route to the theater to help with a sound check. I told him to get the rest of the brothers and to please start praying.

When I arrived at the amusement park, security had notified other officers in the park that the little girls were missing. We all searched as many of the areas behind the rides and down
each side alley as we could, anywhere that might be overlooked. As I ran, scanning the crowds, and calling out the girls’ names, I prayed for forgiveness for ignoring my intuition. I knew that I had been sent a message more than once that would have given me the chance to avoid this terrifying scenario. But that didn’t matter now. All I wanted was to find my babies. Through my frantic tears, I fell to my knees and prayed that I would be given direction to where my little girls were.

A feeling of calmness descended over me, and I stopped in my tracks. I felt that I was somehow being magnetically drawn toward another section of the amusement park where no one had looked. This time I didn’t ignore it. I went, trusting that there must be a reason. Just then, a security guard ran up to us, saying that the little girls had been found safe in this other section. It was down an escalator and a ways from where they had left my assistant’s side. I ran there with security and saw my two darling daughters holding hands with an approaching security guard. When they saw me, they both burst into tears, partly from relief and mostly because they knew how wrong it had been for them to sneak away. They explained that they thought they wouldn’t have a chance to ride their ride before they had to leave, so they had wandered off on their own and gotten lost. After I was done ferociously hugging them, I informed them that they were grounded for the rest of their lives or until further notice and that they would have to prove to me that I could trust them again. Then reality settled in once more, and I remembered that fifteen thousand people were taking their seats to see the Osmonds onstage.

I called my brothers, who were on the verge of canceling the show if the girls weren’t found. I had only ten minutes to get to the theater before the start of the show, and fortunately I knew I would make it. Even though I had ignored my intuition about calling for the children to come back to the hotel, I had for some reason followed an impulse to put all of my makeup on and have my hair finished early. If I hadn’t, it would have been impossible to walk out onstage on time. I couldn’t ignore the grace I had been granted from God to have my children found safe and sound and also to not let down all the people who had come to see the one and only show we were performing in Malaysia.

Over the more recent years, I’ve learned to listen to and trust my intuition more and more, for both large and small matters. I might have a hundred things on my list but suddenly feel the need to call a friend. More times than I can count, I call them right when they seem to need a friend the most, even though I wasn’t aware of what was going on. Even with strangers, I have found I will have an intuitive feeling that I need to help someone or connect someone with a needed resource.

Probably my favorite moment of listening to my intuition happened one night at a “Meet ’n Greet” after the Las Vegas show.

A woman named Kelly introduced herself and asked if I remembered her. I laughed and said of course I did. I had gotten to know her the best when I was seventeen years old and taking a few classes at Brigham Young University in Utah. But my brothers and I had first met her and her family when we used her parents’ home as the setting for a commercial shoot for a
Japanese soft drink called Calpis. She and I began to talk as if no time had passed between us. Then she introduced me to her daughter, who was with a young man I assumed she was dating.

As I talked to the daughter, I couldn’t stop thinking about my oldest son, Stephen. I somehow knew this was the woman for him. I tried to refrain from saying anything, because it certainly wasn’t an appropriate time to bring that up. When the date stepped away for a minute, though, I asked Kelly’s daughter, “How serious are you two?” She smiled and told me she was trying to decide. Being way too blunt, I told her, “Lose him. You have to meet my son.” Her eyes widened at the boldness of my statement, but she laughed and said, “Sure. I’ll meet him,” which made me like her even more.

As it turned out, Kelly and her family were vacationing for a few days in Vegas, and they were going to be boating the next day on Lake Mead. They asked me if Stephen would like to join them. I said absolutely, as only an obnoxious mother would do!

As I was driving home, I called Stephen to tell him about my encounter and his invitation. He groaned at the thought of another blind date, especially one set up by his mother, but he agreed to go. I felt like the momentum had started, and I somehow knew this was the right thing to do.

The next afternoon, as I was driving my daughter to a dance class, my cell rang. It was Stephen. He was calling from the dock on Lake Mead. He told me, “Mom, she’s so smart and funny. And, oh, by the way, you could have told me that she’s gorgeous, too!”

A year and four months later, “gorgeous” Claire married my very happy son, Stephen Craig. They were meant for each other: They strengthen, challenge, entertain, and uplift each other.

Steve and I couldn’t love our daughter-in-law more. She is a jewel…a treasure. My children adore her, as well, and our extended family has increased substantially as we now vacation and celebrate many holidays with her parents and sister.

I laughingly take credit for getting Claire and Stephen together, but I know it wasn’t really me. It was simply listening to my intuition and following through on the direction that was given me. When a mother’s intuition calls…a mother must listen!

Like my mother, I have the word “prayer” at the top of my to-do list and also at the bottom of that list every day. Even if it means I only get to sleep for a couple of hours, I still begin and end my day with prayer, reading, and meditation. It brings my spirit back into focus. It reminds me of what is important. Today, so much more is out of our hands than when my mother raised us. Life has become faster-paced, with more information available than ever before. But what I understand more fully now is that information isn’t always knowledge; it can’t give a woman the wisdom she seeks. Wisdom can only come from a deeper understanding of spiritual truths and values and knowing what your purpose is as a woman, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a wife, and especially a mother. You can’t “hear” that voice of intuition if your phone is beeping with another text message alert, or if you’re trying to send an e-mail and schedule
an appointment at the same time, or if you never have a moment alone to dream, imagine, create, and problem solve.

We have to be careful we don’t let it get to the point where, like the runaway cow, we have to struggle up a rocky slope for one small patch of solitude and peace. Give it to yourself first, so that, like my mother, you have a supply to give to others. You need time to be present, to listen. It’s one of the best things I think we can teach to our children, too.

Recently, I came home after doing a show. It was midnight, and I had been admiring the full moon on my drive home. As I walked through the house to make sure the kids were all tucked in, I saw a light on in Brianna’s bedroom. She told me that she was having a hard time sleeping. Sometimes, my kids try to “work it” so they can stay up later or have me tell them stories and talk. If I’m tired, I tell them the story my mother used to tell me when it was late and she was tired and wanted me to go to sleep.

She would say, “I had a little doll. I hung her on the wall. I guess that’s all. Good night.” Then she would tuck me in, we would both giggle, she would switch off the light, and I would drift off to sleep.

My kids know that the light is going off when I start the “doll” story. I almost told it to Brianna, but the voice of my intuition told me that she needed more from her mother. She was fourteen and had just started learning to drive. I walked to the edge of her bed and whispered, “Hurry and put your shoes on. It’s time for a driving lesson.” Her face lit up, and two minutes later, we were both in the car with her at the wheel.
The neighborhood I live in has very wide, modern streets, and some of them end near the top of the ridge, where they are still developing new homes. There wasn’t another car on the street, so I let Brianna practice driving up and down for a while.

Then I had her drive to the top, where the street ended, and there is the best view of most of Las Vegas. We sat in the car, and I listened as my daughter talked to me about anything and everything she wanted to, whatever was on her mind and in her heart. I listened to the happiness, the expectations, and the trials of being a fourteen-year-old girl today. She has worries that I never had at her age and she also has great opportunities that I didn’t have, all of which feels like a lot to navigate when you’re just starting to have more independence.

From our vantage point at the top of the hill, you could see the entire Las Vegas strip, which was lighting up the sky along the horizon. It’s an impressive sight, but not when it’s put into perspective.

I said to my daughter, “Look how beautiful the lights of the city are. It’s a city that man built. But to God, it’s like little children building with Lincoln Logs. Now, roll down your window and look up at the sky, at the full moon and the stars. That is God’s creation and it goes on and on, many stars and galaxies beyond our human vision, all in ‘apple pie order,’ as my grandma would say. We have to remember that as human beings, we have certain powers. We can use our free will to do harm or to heal. We can stop a heart, but we can’t start it beating in the womb when a new life is created. That’s God. And I know God created you for a reason. He loves you and wants to
listen to you and provide peace. I’m always here, too, to help you figure life out.”

Just then, my phone beeped as it downloaded an e-mail. Brianna looked over at me and said, “Hey, Mom, can I see your phone for a minute?” I started to laugh, remembering our car ride many years ago, and so did she. I could tell by her expression that it might go out the window and over the edge of the ridge. I turned the phone off. I reached over and squeezed her hand three times. She smiled, and we leaned back to gaze up at the stars. She talked. I listened.

My parents at the celebration of their fortieth anniversary and a life of love.

I
was in Los Angeles recently when I had a simple and profound epiphany. It was more of a “remembering” than an “aha” moment. I had flown in the night before, by myself, for an early morning press tour for the
Donny & Marie Christmas Show
at the Pantages Theatre. It was late, and I was in my hotel room writing in my journal after talking on the phone to my kids, Steve, and then my daughter who lives in Utah. Tourists from all around the world were still meandering along the Hollywood sidewalks far below my window, stopping to take photos next to the stars’ names along the Walk of Fame. Down the street a couple of blocks, two mega spotlights sliced the night sky back and forth, signaling another tourist attraction. Nearby, dozens of people milled about the courtyard of the famous Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, comparing the size of their own hands to the cement handprints of the stars. My life is blessed, busy, and full. I have a huge extended family, many new and old friends. But for a brief moment, as I looked out the window, I experienced how it felt to be very alone in this city of “broken dreams,” one person in a city of four million
residents and countless tourists who had come looking to be entertained and energized by the excitement or to escape their daily stress. As I went back to my journal, I rather unconsciously wrote a phrase that my mother lived by: “The key to life is love.” In my aloneness, as I contemplated this simple truth, it gave me pause.