Sometimes we make the mistake of thinking that marriage is the only way to build community and develop Christlike qualities like selflessness and patience and charity. But our individual gifts and circumstances vary as widely as people themselves as we serve in the body of Christ. Instead of feeling or being made to feel a perpetual lack, we can choose to embrace our current situation at any given moment with wholeheartedness, gratitude, and joy. [MUSIC PLAYING]

So a couple of months ago, I was traveling in Florida alone, and a complete stranger asked if I was single. When I told him that, yes, I was, he said, "Oh, so you've chosen career over family." I was a little surprised by the assumption. Later that same day, my Uber driver noticed I was alone and made a comment about my appearance, as if that should be the primary determining factor in whether or not I have a boyfriend. And the next day, another man asked if I was by myself and expressed pity when I told him that, yes, I was. I was traveling alone. After a good laugh by myself, I started to wonder why strangers feel entitled to make judgments like these about my private life. Why do they assume that a single woman in her 30s has chosen career over family, or somehow wasn't selected for marriage, or is traveling alone as a fallback? I actually really love traveling solo. And the fact that I might enjoy my life as it is rarely occurs to people. They assume that I must feel broken or less than whole. And while all of us are broken and less than whole in our own ways regardless of marital status, I am for the most part very happy. But the fact that I don't quite fit the mold seems to give strangers on the street permission to inform me that I've broken the social code. When they learn that I'm a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, their surprise usually just increases. Don't all religious people marry young? Why am I not married? [LAUGHS] These are questions they seem to demand answers to. And these sorts of conversations occur everywhere-- inside the Church, outside the Church. But it can be particularly difficult to be single in a religion that places such heavy emphasis on family and on the importance of family. Sometimes we make the mistake of thinking that marriage is the only way to build community and develop Christlike qualities like selflessness and patience and charity. But our individual gifts and circumstances vary as widely as people themselves as we serve in the body of Christ. Instead of feeling or being made to feel a perpetual lack, we can choose to embrace our current situation at any given moment with wholeheartedness, gratitude, and joy. Not only are we enough, eternally loved, and infinitely valued, but our circumstances are also enough. Think of the accomplishments of figures in the early Church, like John the Baptist and the Apostle Paul. These followers of Christ focused on exactly that, following Christ, within the framework of their own circumstances, which differed from those of other followers at the time. And they accomplished things that were critical to the success of the early Church. Is singlehood a lifelong path for everyone? Of course not. Many who are single do hope to find eternal companionship and to have families of their own in this life. But when we walk the path of singlehood even for just a period in our lives, we can choose to see it as a unique kind of a blessing, not a curse or a stumbling block. It can bless us and others in very real ways, opening unique opportunities to serve and providing a much needed diversity of perspectives within the broader community. At the moment, singles do make up the majority of the Church's membership worldwide. It can be easy for us to sometimes think of ourselves as outsiders, but truly we are not. As the majority of the body of Christ on Earth right now, consider the kind of influence we can have and the important work that we have to accomplish. As Elder Gong noted in the most recent general conference, "The majority of adult Church members are now unmarried, widowed, and divorced. Our standing before the Lord in his Church is not a matter of our marital status but of our becoming faithful and valiant disciples of Jesus Christ. Adults want to be seen as adults and to be responsible and to contribute as adults, each with righteous desires, talents, and immense capacities to bless and serve," close quote. In addition to the biblical examples I referenced earlier, there are many modern examples of faithful singles in the Church who have contributed to the community in remarkable ways. These women and men have founded charitable organizations, held positions of leadership within the Church, created powerful works of art and literature, helped to record the history of the Church, and so much more. We should feel honored to stand alongside these spiritual giants, these men and women. I think often about the way that we can help others catch glimpses of Christ through the things that we do and say. When we can see Christ in the words and actions of those around us, this produces strong and lasting ties among Christian disciples. Our minds expand as we see through His eyes and love one another as He does. Ideally, these communities celebrate both the individual and the collective, both singles and families, both the things that distinguish us and the things that unite us as the body of Christ. I'm grateful that God has provided me with unique opportunities to serve and be served in Eastern Europe, first as a missionary for the Church many years ago, and later as a scholar and a musician. These experiences have shaped me in important ways and have helped me navigate the sometimes difficult transition from my 20s into my early 30s as a single adult in the Church. I've made friends who now feel like family worldwide. And these good people have taught me critical lessons about not sitting around and waiting to be accepted but instead carving out your own space in a community by serving God and serving others. In the words of Elder Ballard, quote, "Having a sense of belonging is so important. Nearly every aspect of our lives is organized around belonging to something. We cannot separate a sense of belonging from our physical and mental health and, I would add, our spiritual health. We can awake to new life in Christ as we turn to the Lord for hope and belonging," close quote. Sometimes, people can feel lonely when they have divergent political opinions or an unusual life trajectory. My hope is that people who may sometimes feel like they exist on the outside can actively contribute to solutions from within rather than standing by helplessly or passively or critically. Our communities are what we make them, and they are able to serve in more meaningful ways when they see through the eyes of diverse perspectives. Music happens to be one of the ways that I most easily serve and connect with those around me. Sometimes, these experiences that I have with music are formal, like hymns sung during a Slovakian church service or performances with a Georgian folk choir. And sometimes they're much more personal, informal, intimate, even one on one. I remember in particular an experience that I had visiting an elderly woman from a small congregation in Ukraine when I was a missionary, a brand new missionary for the Church. Sickness and poverty and the recent loss of her husband had left her angry and bitter. And she obviously saw me as a privileged outsider, which in a sense I was. I couldn't seem to do or say anything to connect us or to offer her comfort or to even convince her that I had the capacity to understand her situation. Then I looked over, and I noticed that she had a piano. The room was dusty and cluttered, and her piano keys were chipped and stained. But I sat, and I began playing the upward striving phrases of Chopin's beautiful "Fantaisie-Impromptu." And as I did this, I watched her. And the tension in her forehead began to smooth. And for the first time, she smiled. Chopin was a language we both understood. In that moment, we had formed a community of two. I also have many fond memories learning traditional Russian folk songs while sitting on the floor of another woman's home and feeling so welcomed and accepted within this new culture despite the fact that I was an outsider, and I barely understood the language. This woman, who happened to be single, was the force that had held this small branch of our Church together in that particular city for many years. She consistently hosted missionaries at her home. She fed them and sang songs with them and helped ease their homesickness by being a stand-in mother. She actively built a community around her. I once complained to this woman about some of my very real frustrations as a missionary. The mission wasn't easy in Ukraine. And she watched me, listened patiently, and then curiously, she asked, "Sister Glenn, haven't you realized yet that life is hard? It's hard for everybody. Choose to find the joy." Watching these Eastern Europeans, who now feel like family, serve both insiders and outsiders in their communities has taught me how to serve more purely and how to hope more tenaciously. No one knows better than the people of Eastern Europe how to find bright points of light in the darkness. It's the same light that shines in the eyes of so many of these individuals who lived through some of the greatest horrors of the 20th century. It's resilience. It's the light of God. It's proof that hope works. I remember seeing a light like that once in the depths of an Eastern Orthodox church in Bulgaria. During the Ottoman occupation in the 14th century, the Turks wouldn't allow Christian churches to rise any higher than the mosques. So Christians in Bulgaria got creative, and they dug down. Worshipers today have the opportunity to climb down themselves against hard rock and dropping temperatures before the interior of the church opens, and your eyes adjust to a dark, underground expanse. Each stone in those walls tells a story of strength and resilience. It was in one of those churches that I saw a young mother light a candle as her baby stared on in wide-eyed fascination, transfixed by that single brilliant point of illumination made bright by darkness-- hope. After the service was over, several women broke and distributed the banitsa, or the sacramental bread, to those begging for food on the outside of the walls of the church. I thought that was so interesting. It was offered freely and without judgment, not only to those who were insiders but quite literally to those who were outsiders too. All were invited to Christ at the level that they were able and willing to receive Him. Do I occasionally feel like one of those people on the outside when a stranger makes a thoughtless and probably completely unintentional comment about my marital status? Yes. Do I also know deep in my soul that every perceived outsider has something unique and necessary to contribute to the body of Christ? I do. We can't afford to limit our own potential or that of others by internalizing messages based in fear or ignorance or hopelessness. Every one of us has a critical and a unique work to do, a specific calling from God, a path that only we can travel at this moment in time. It is my hope that we can all embrace whatever we are called to in the moment, full of hope and confidence in our own potential. God needs us. Our community needs us. Hope works, but only when we offer it to each other in the way that Christ would if He were here. Hope is not only something we receive. It is something that we give.