In middle of January a month and a half after I returned, again the question of whom I shall marry came to mind and pressed itself upon me. So, I asked. And asked. I became consumed with prayer. There was no answer. Always before answers were available. Now I just had to know. Days went by and my petition only became more determined. Looking back on it, I know why I had to seek that answer. But at the time I didn’t understand why it was important to get that answer. At work wondering if the Lord would answer my prayer; head aching from over a week of fairly intense prayer, her name came into my mind. It was disappointing and upsetting. It was someone I didn’t admire or even like: She didn’t appear to share my standards. She was rich, and famous which made her very threatening. It meant I was to join the list of the imbalanced guys in love with her. Some with revelations of their own like mine. She was Marie Osmond.

The year was 1978; Donny and Marie had a TV show. Others would think I was crazy. I had expected a name I didn’t recognize: someone I would meet later down at BYU. Dealing with fame was terrifying. I spent High school avoiding the lime light because in it I suffered verbal abuse. Because of this did I secretly want attention to prove my worth? If so, it was a secret well-kept from me. I enjoyed my books.

I rejected the name; I didn’t have to think about it. It was an immediate reaction. I was horrified and worked hard to ignore it. For two or three days her name followed me around in my head like a buzzing fly. I kept rejecting it hoping that it had come from something within myself that was warped. I seriously doubted this voice; other guys also had ‘inspiration’ which told them to go for Marie. Now I was included in that horde. There were several girls who claimed the Lord told them to marry me. My doubts about them now reversed to haunt me. Kids my age already thought I was strange: now I had all the proof they needed. I was certain her name was never going to go away unless I accepted it. Finally, I told the Lord, I’d consider her a possibility. At that, the pressure on me to receive her name faded and my mind relaxed enough to keep my job, threatened now because I was so distracted. I couldn’t even mention it in my diary for a few months for fear someone would read it.

Dreams came, but not about her: they were about Donny. In the dreams Don and I are close friends, filled with a wonderful feeling of Godly purpose. I knew the Lord was doing His work through us. I was born for this!

Not all the dreams showed things going well. In one Don had me go alone to a family party, telling me he would arrive later. I half expected his mom wouldn’t let me in; she did. I was embarrassed to be at a family-only party. I felt uninvited, and out of place, despite Don’s wanting me there. I was to meet Marie. This wasn’t my family, I didn’t want to meet Marie, I just had to walk this rocky path to fulfill God’s will.

Marie was with her friends. I walked over and said something to her. Perhaps it was supposed to be humorous, but it fell flat. Feeling even more ashamed, I found some food and an empty table in a dark corner and there I stayed. Don arrived and understood. I desperately wanted to leave, but he had something else in mind. Marie and I are friends in another dream and she believes in what I am trying to do.

I’m anything but a fan of the Osmonds. They harmonize well, but like most people, harmony doesn’t make the hit song. What makes music catch our attention is how it reflects our passions. They don’t reflect my passions and I don’t really like their music. I didn’t watch their show and have never bought an album of theirs. Part of the reason for this was that from the time I was thirteen I was nicknamed Donny. He and I have similar facial features and build. I got a lot of unwanted attention because of him. There is nothing so disgusting as losing your identity to another; I resented it. (Not Donny, the loss of identity.) The fact that I played the piano and loved to sing made it worse. In Hawaii most guys thought I really was Donny. Hearing of me, a girl followed me around for a couple of days. I doubt that she believed me when I told her I was Laird, not Donny. I liked her, but the attention was embarrassing. Was being identified with Don somehow the source of the voice and the dreams? I was new to divine inspiration. I listened to it because of the bicycle incident. But this was really far out; I was doubtful this came from God. So were members of my family when I eventually told them. Sunday in April the Elders quorum talked about the church’s difficult doctrine with the Blacks. After the meeting a recent convert, Warren Stillwaugh, quietly told me he had prayed about blacks and the priesthood and was told they would have it soon.

I thought him a little naive, but you have to cut the new members a little slack. So I didn’t tell him how ridiculous and stupid that sounded. Boy, was he naive! Two months later Pres. Kimball announced that blacks could have the priesthood like all other men. I couldn’t believe it at first; I thought it was a lie. But after I got used to it I remembered Warren telling me it was coming. I had known of other things by the Spirit, but this time my loyalty to the status quo blinded me. My mind was so closed, I hadn’t even prayed about what Warren said. I knew then that I needed to be more open to the will of God even if it didn’t act according to my expectations.

That winter and spring I worked in the church with a very fine woman called Katy McFarlund. I respected her, but there were no romantic feelings. After a while it occurred to me that her name fit the pattern of the syllables I had heard in New York. I still hadn’t accepted the idea of marrying Marie, and thought about Katy as a possibility. My dad suggested I date her, but she lived a too far from my house. So, in prayer, feeling sure I could love her I asked the Lord: should I pursue a relationship with her? The voice replied,” Yes you could love her, but no, she’s been given to another.” So, I left her alone.

In May my parents and sisters went to Utah leaving me alone at home. I had to direct a LDS Area Young adult conference held at a local college. Having the family gone with so much to do was a relief. Even with the hundred or so young adults, the conference proceeded smoothly. I got a lot of attention and praise though it was not organized by me. I didn’t know how to do all that my partner, Katy, did. She set it all up and then went on a mission just before the conference, leaving me in charge. It was a wonderful experience.

I planned to clean up the house right after the conference for my parents return. But they came back a day earlier than I had expected; I had not even started on the house. Though nothing was seriously wrong, their criticism and complaints were harsh. I stood and took it and then went to my room shedding tears and crying my heart out to the Lord. In 24 hours I had gone from enjoying the highest respect to suffering the worst disgust. I didn’t deserve either. It really hurt. Self-worth is independent of circumstance and opinion. It’s content to be a beloved creation of God. The joy and the pain came because I subjected myself to other’s judgements.

During some of the most troubled weeks, I was being pulled apart by the two poles of our home. I prayed desperately for peace and asked the Lord to do something. I had a vision at work. It showed me a possible solution. I was made aware that it was up to the two involved to accept it. I tried to talk to them, but didn’t get far before the idea was vehemently rejected. It wasn’t that bad. The problem was that it involved the accidental death of one. I naturally assumed that if life was hell, who’d want to hold onto it. But that’s not everyone’s attitude. I was accused of wanting one dead, and of taking the side of the other. Actually, the Lord was offering one peace and using the other to solve a problem in the ward. Death’s reward, not punishment.

I have to be careful sharing my perspective with others. For example: I have a particularly strong affection for Mormonism. But my loyalty’s placed on the Lord and righteousness, not on the Church, its practices nor its doctrine. If the role of women were enhanced and made equal with men; if the Church changed the manner it’s leaders are chosen; or if single and married people were entrusted and treated alike; as long as I felt the Lord in it, I wouldn’t even blink. But when someone’s conscience is coerced, basic truths trampled, or rights violated; I get very upset. I hate times when I suspect such foolishness.

Visions, angels, spirits, miracles, and the grace of God are no longer strange to me. But the loyalties and perspectives of many differ from mine. Common sense and obvious to me is nonsense and obscure to others.

Later in the summer I was in a car with my sisters and a few other friends. To pass the time someone suggested that we play truth or consequences. I laughed: I knew I’d done nothing I was embarrassed to talk about and said so. My sisters challenged that. They began to hint and talk about something that should embarrass me. I couldn’t, for the life of me, make any sense of their hints. They became ashamed and stopped talking about it. But they had started my mind working. I could barely make out the faintest hint of a black memory. It was from just before my mission. It was what I had confessed to the LTM president. I was disgusted with the memory. I felt nothing in common with the lusts that ruled the boy who created such filth. I had totally forsaken that sickness. I wished my sisters hadn’t reminded me. What the Lord forgave, I forgot and it would have been better off left that way. It illustrates how through God’s forgiveness can be if we let it.