Fluffy and I planned to go out of town last weekend, but our plans changed at the last minute. There was a baptism in our ward that Saturday, and it was one we couldn’t miss.

Our friend Gregg joined the Church a year and a half ago, but his wife Tregel didn’t want to join with him just so they could do it together. She is a person who studies things out and does things on her own time, and nobody could talk her into joining the Church before she was good and ready.

Which was exactly the way it should have been.

Tregel is a private person, and the first time that Gregg learned she was going to be baptized was when the bishop announced it over the pulpit, the Sunday before the baptism. Gregg was as surprised as the rest of us.

Our friend Melanie took over the task of providing the refreshments, and we all had assignments to carry out. Because of Melanie’s organization, things couldn’t have been any better if we had planned the baptism for a year.

The thing that struck me most about this baptism was something I noticed as we were watching the program in the chapel. Tregel, a Jamaican, had been baptized by a Tongan. She was welcomed into the ward by our Japanese bishop, and she was welcomed into the Relief Society by our Korean Relief Society president. The closing prayer was given by a missionary who had so recently arrived from China that she struggled to find the English translation for what she wanted to say.

Among the people in the congregation were a Puerto Rican friend who had driven down from Pennsylvania for the occasion, as well as a half dozen or so members of our ward who come from different countries in South America.

Anybody who thinks of Mormonism as a white bread religion is not acquainted with the Latter-day Saints!

Tregel with her husband Gregg and the ward members who could pry themselves away from the refreshment table.

If you want to go back a couple of days, the cooking class that was held on our home three days before had been conducted by a lady from Singapore. She invited her best friend in the ward, who is Japanese, to come with her, and it was fun to watch them standing at the sink afterwards, washing the dishes and animatedly chatting in broken English because neither could speak the other’s language.

One of the most spiritual experiences I have had in the temple occurred many years ago, when I was assigned to spend an hour doing sealings.  At one point I looked down to see my fish-belly white hand holding a black hand over the altar.  A brown hand was resting on top of ours.  I had seen few things in my life that were as beautiful as the symbol of unity that was shown with the colors of those three clasped hands.

We human beings think of ourselves as being so unique.  We separate ourselves into tribes, divided by color or nationality or even allegiance to different sports teams.  But under the skin, we're all the same.  We all want good things for ourselves and for the people we love.  We all want to get through this life relatively unscathed, having accomplished something to make our lives worthwhile.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ teaches us that we are all brothers and sisters, children of the same God.  We may look different, or have different occupations, or speak with different accents, but we all have that one thing in common.  God loves every one of us, and as long as we're doing our best, He loves us just the way we are.