There is a unique aspect of the Latter-day Saint experience that those who have grown up in the church may, at times, take for granted. It is the feeling that, no matter where in the world you are, you can walk into a Latter-day Saint sacrament meeting and hear the same hymns, likely be studying the same part of the scriptures and feel as though these total strangers are an extension of your family. We refer to each other as, “brother” and “sister” and I’ve had so many experiences in my travels where it really felt like I had brothers and sisters across the world.
As such, I’m starting a new little series here on Meridian to encourage our readers to share the unique experiences they’ve had where they had the help or support or encouragement of a ward or an individual in a congregation, where they were just visiting, that made them feel like family.
You can send your own stories to [email protected] and we will publish one or a few of them here every week.
I’ll begin by sharing the story that inspired this series:
When my first child was nine months old, we took an extended trip to Costa Rica. The purpose of the trip was to be a writing retreat for me, as I was working on a book about the experience of new motherhood, and a chance for my husband to learn to surf. We rented a car and spent the first few days of the trip traveling around seeing the sights before we would settle into a more permanent place for several weeks.
Our first Sunday in country, we checked Meetinghouse Locator to find where to attend church. Unfortunately, our tendency to be a little late to church here was likewise true there and we pulled into the paved area around the building in a hurry. As we looked for where or how we were meant to park, (as we could see very few other cars), I noticed that, cutting down through the middle of the pavement in front of the building, was a stairwell. It was a path to get to the street below, but had no railing and so was almost impossible to see from the parking area above. The only thing indicating that it was there was a yellow, rounded curb on either side of what was basically a ravine.
I turned to my husband, who was driving and said, “Watch out for those stairs”.
He didn’t understand what I meant and drove right over what he thought was a speed bump and our rented car went down into the stairwell and got lodged with back tires above and front end below. We were able to get out of the car safely, but to my horror, not only were they in the middle of the sacrament, but the exterior doors to the chapel were wide open, to allow in the cool breeze, so every single person in the congregation had heard the incident and was now watching these embarrassed Americans examining their predicament and trying to figure out what to do.
Almost immediately, they stopped the meeting and the members came pouring out to help, though we were total strangers to them. The same priesthood holders who had just rolled up their white shirt sleeves to break and bless the sacrament, rolled up those same sleeves to lift and shift and see how many jacks in might take to lift the car back to the level of the pavement. Their selfless, immediate, and nonjudgemental service to us showed how much they understood the true application of the ordinance they had just administered.
The men lifted together while the women talked with me (in their very little English and my very little Spanish) about my little baby and what we were hoping to see in their country and assured me again and again that it was all ok.
They stopped sacrament meeting for us, but didn’t say one word or give a single look that said we should’ve felt badly about it. They looked out that open chapel door and understand the principle that my grandfather used to remind us, “People need help when they need it, not some other time.”
They rushed to our aid and showed us an outpouring of love, freely given.
In the end, that wasn’t even the area we were staying in long term. So, despite being welcomed in and assisted like family, we never saw any of them again.
But it didn’t matter, we knew from that experience, that by being a part of the Lord’s Kingdom, we have brothers and sisters all over the world.
I would so dearly love to hear all your stories and the service or connection or love that you have received from members in congregations that weren’t your own.
Email your experiences to [email protected].
