Man-Made

I didn’t drink coffee until I was into my mid 40s.

Same goes for beer or any type of alcoholic beverage.

I was told what color of shirt to wear to church. I was told what type of activities I could join in on Sunday. No swimming because Satan controls the waters!

R-rated movies were discouraged.

When I decided to have a vasectomy, I was supposed to consult with my local bishop.

For over 40 years I thought God made the rules and it was my responsibility to follow them. I felt incredible amounts of guilt when I failed.

Until I realized it was all man-made.

God doesn’t judge me if I have an Americano with cream. He doesn’t care how I spend my time on Sunday or what I wear.

If there is a God I bet he cares more about how I treat others than if I’m wearing the right underwear.

I had followed rules created by men.

When I allowed myself to act outside these artificial restrictions I began to think for myself again.

And as for God? Man made him too.

Trust

Two weeks ago, we drove to the Las Vegas airport with our 15–year old daughter. We went inside and escorted her to security. We made sure she made her way through security before leaving.

Our daughter was on her way to Dallas to visit her boyfriend.

Were we worried she’d be safe?

What if she made unwise decisions?

What if she didn’t have fun?

I thought about these and other concerns parents have about their children. My spouse and I spoke about them together and with our daughter. We confirmed the details of her trip and knew she’d be taken care of while in Dallas so we decided she was mature enough to make the trip.

Above all else, it comes down to this: We trust our daughter.

She makes wise decisions regarding her free time, her schooling, and her friends. She has a track record of making wise decisions. That could change, and I’m sure she’ll have ups and downs. But we are trying to raise our children to make most of their own decisions.

I grew up in a church where many decisions were already made for me. It’s easy to offload a good chunk of parenting to the church without giving it much thought. I believe my parents assumed the church would teach me about a number of important topics ranging from alcohol to sex.

My parents and the church were in total agreement so whatever I was told at church was an extension of their rules. My spouse and I are not raising our kids in a church which means we need to have these conversations with our kids instead of assuming it’s happening elsewhere.

I am certain that we will make mistakes. We were both raised in an orthodox religion so it’s been both a challenge and relief to learn as we go. I believe that our children will be better off in the end.

As for the trip to Dallas? Our daughter returned home safe and sound. The only problem? She’s ready to go again!

You Are Not Alone

Leaving your religion can feel like a lonely solo journey. When I decided to halt my activity in the Mormon church I felt Chuck from Castaway, stranded on my own island. Living in a small town in Utah didn’t help my feelings of isolation. I joined a couple of Facebook groups full of people who were going or had gone through a similar transition. Many of them were confused, but most were angry. And that anger can be exhibited itself in ways that can feel combative or hostile to those who still believe.

Reading accounts of former Mormons who came out to spouses and family helped give me the courage to do the same. Telling Kim was stressful, but our marriage was strong. We’ve gone through tough times together and emerged with a stronger love for each other. I told her, “Well get through this.”

She listened while I did most of the talking that evening. I told her how I felt. I told her my research had brought me to a place where I could no longer accept the truth claims of the only religion I’ve ever known. Kim told me she wasn’t surprised, but I know that didn’t make it any easier to hear in such clear terms. I could no longer go through the weekly charade. I could no longer donate my time and money to an organization in which I no longer believed.

Kim remained calm, at least on the surface. What did this mean for our marriage? What would it mean for our children? Our future? We’d have to figure that out.

I spoke with a good friend a few days later. We’d served a mission together in Germany, and he told me that he no longer believed in the Mormon church. But he continued to attend each week to keep the peace with his spouse. I told him of my plans to tell my parents, and he advised against it. “You will only hurt them”, he told me. I heard his counsel, and then went home and wrote my father a letter.

I should have listened to my friend.

I’m not going to go into many details here, but my decision to leave the church has adversely affected all but a couple of relationships with my siblings and parents. I was the first of the kids to leave Utah, the last to have children and the first to leave the church. Three strikes and I was out. Families are the most important unit on earth, according to Mormon teachings. The family can be together after death, but only if every person does his or her part here on earth. By rejecting Mormonism, I was rejecting not only their church but the family unit that was supposed to last an eternity.

I knew the risks going in and have accepted the outcome of my decision to be open about my faith crisis. Some friends and family have told me to go about my business in private. Just walk away from the church and keep my mouth shut. It’s nobody’s business. Nobody cares.

But they are wrong in at least one regard: people do care. I’m not alone.

In the last 18 months, I’ve received dozens of emails and texts from people who have questions about the LDS church. Most of them still attend church each week but have nowhere to turn and nobody with which to discuss their concerns. Most are scared to share their concerns with their spouse. Some have told their spouse, but go through the motions for everyone else, as a way to keep the peace.

I’ve felt overwhelmed at times. People I care about deeply are asking for my advice on how to proceed through a field full of landmines and I have little guidance to impart. Kim’s side of the family has been wonderful, loving, and accepting. But my decision to leave the church has utterly torched relationships on my side of the family. “I’m batting .500 with family.” sounds reasonable in baseball terms, but provides little solace when dealing with those you love.

Yet I enjoy hearing from others with doubts similar to mine. These doubts come from people I admire. They are smart, thoughtful individuals who have been faithful members. But then they came across the church essay on polygamy. Or the one about blacks and priesthood. Suddenly their world is turned upside down.

Whatever the reason for their doubts, there are few avenues for sharing these doubts within a safe environment inside the church. Some who have taken their questions to bishops or stake presidents have left without their temple recommends or church callings. There’s just little room for doubt in a church that claims to be the one and only true church on earth. You’re either all in or you’re out. Critical thinking is seen as a sign of weakness in a world where faith and obedience are paramount.

If you are one of these people who have doubts or questions, know that you are not alone. If you could discern the thoughts of those sitting next to you in church, you’d realize that a number of them are going through a faith crisis in silence. Only you know when the time is right to share your thoughts with your spouse and your family. I’ve stumbled through that process, making mistakes along the way. But I decided that going through the motions was doing more harm than good.

If you would like someone to talk to, I’m happy to listen. Just know that I’m a better listener than advice giver. I’ve been asked many times what resources I studied, or what websites and podcasts helped me the most when searching for answers, and I’m hesitant to share everything I’ve studied over the years. I don’t believe that would be helpful and I don’t pretend that my route is the only route to take. Your research may confirm your beliefs, and that’s just fine. As President J. Reuben Clark said:

If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation.
If we have not the truth, it ought to be harmed.

I will mention one influential (and less controversial) resource because it affected me immensely: John Dehlin’s interview with Brent Metcalfe on the Mormon Stories Podcast. Brent worked as security at the church office building in Salt Lake City in the early 80s, and became an expert on the Book of Abraham and church history. His story is fascinating and touching and ultimately sad.

You are not alone. Keep searching for answers. Make connections with those in the same boat, and be willing to change course based on what you learn.

My Early Years As A Mormon

I don’t remember a time when my parents told me I was a mormon. It was like being American or caucasian. I didn’t choose to be either of those, and being a mormon wasn’t a choice either. My parents were mormon, so I was mormon.

Most of our neighbors in Ogden, Utah were mormon as well. I did have a good friend named Ken whose family wasn’t mormon. I believe they belonged to the Catholic church. In church I was taught that it was best to stick close to people who believed the same things I did. When I was 10-years old Ken invited me to his home to play, and I was surprised when my mother said that was fine. Other than the coffee maker, I thought Ken’s home looked like any other I’d seen.

My parents made it clear at an early age that as long as I lived under their roof I would attend church each week. It was a non-negotiable. As I got into my teens I often used this rule as a way to stay out past my curfew by promising to get up for church the next morning. I got really good at balancing my chin in my hands and falling asleep during sacrament meeting.

I didn’t like attending church very much until I got into my teens. I didn’t understand why we had to hear the same stories over and over. I guess they figured repetition eventually wears down our minds to the point that anything they told us sounded true after a while. Around age 16, I viewed church as a place to socialize and looked forward to attending.

During this time I never gave much thought to whether what I was learning was true or not. The idea of a loving god made sense to me. Jesus sounded like a good guy, although the idea of him dying for my sins made no sense. But god and Christ are almost an afterthought in the mormon church I remember. Most of our lessons centered around the teachings of Joseph Smith, who was told by god in a vision that he shouldn’t join any of the churches in the early 19th century. Eventually Smith was shown the location of a set of golden plates which, once Smith translated, become the Book of Mormon. Every doctrine and truth claim of the mormon church hinges on the Book of Mormon being an authentic translation of the word of god. It’s the lynchpin of the church.

One summer our youth leaders challenged us read the Book of Mormon. Those of us who read it from cover to cover were taken to a fancy dinner in Salt Lake City. I would have been 15 or 16 at the time, and this was the first time I finished a book that wasn’t required for school. My favorite story of the Book of Mormon is when Ammon cuts off the arms of the thieves attempting to steal the king’s horses. I read that story over and over.

My mother was raised in a devout mormon family. My father was not, and became active in the church after meeting my mother in high school. My mother would often ask me what I learned at church which lead to discussions. My mom read from her Book of Mormon each day, as instructed by the church leaders. She seemed to know a lot about the church, although I don’t recall having many doctrinal discussions with her. I had no doubt she believed the church was as its leaders stated: the only true and living church on the face of the earth. I don’t remember my mom ever complaining about church.

While my mother was devout in her beliefs, I felt like my father gravitated to the church because he admired the organization and the structure. I felt the church provided a sense of duty in my father, and it’s one he took seriously. The church is also a patriarchal organization which suited my father well. I’m sure I had conversations about the church with my father, but I don’t recall any details from those conversations.

My parents expected me to take part in the major milestones of the church. I recall my father telling me how he and his friends would break into the church gym to play basketball, which I thought was cool at the time. I think he also talked to me about the church around the time of these milestones. I felt my parents encouraged me to be involved in the church, but never really forced it upon me. I mean, I had to attend church each week, but once I was home I could watch NFL football or whatever other sporting event was on TV. We were not an orthodox mormon family. Two sports I was not allowed to play on Sunday were tennis and swimming. But I could ride my bike or play kick-the-can with the neighbor kids. Once I began mowing lawns for money I would sneak over to McKay Dee hospital and purchase a Coke and Butterfinger.

I believe my parents thought that raising their children in the church would make them better individuals. For much of the time I’ve had children of my own, I could relate to this feeling. Today I have some major issues with the truth claims of the mormon church, but I have no doubt that it provides opportunities to grow and serve.

When I began dating, my parents never told me I had to date girls who were mormon. At church that point was hammered home though. My father was a teacher and coach at my high school from grade 9 thru 12 which made dating awkward at times. But my father was well liked by students, and he gave me space to enjoy that part of my life without any interference.

My parents didn’t put pressure on me to serve a mission when I turned 19, but I knew that not serving would disappoint them. My father didn’t serve a mission so I didn’t grow up hearing mission stories from him, and I commend my parents for allowing me to come to my own decision about serving a mission.

I’ll save details about my mission for tomorrow.