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.