Hi, I'm Bobcat!

The Epic of Bobcat is one of those stories that, when you live it, seems packed with adventure and intrigue, where the ending is anything but clear. But looking back years later, I realize that given who I am and what I have been through, the questions I've asked and the answers I've found, it's really no surprise that I ended up here.

Growing up, I was the type of kid who had always gone to church because he wanted to. I never felt coerced or forced to do so. I earned my Eagle Scout, was involved in every quorum presidency, and kept all of the rules concerning the Word of Wisdom, the Law of Chastity, and the Law of Tithing. By all accounts, I was a model citizen.

But even in high school, I was a bit liberal in my social and political beliefs. Because I had a couple of gay friends, I couldn't force myself to get all up in arms about "defending marriage". Because I knew and respected a number of people of different faiths, I had no problem getting behind religious tolerance. I believed that God would judge me based on my heart, not on whether or not I cussed during football practice. But one thing was always true: I did not think there was ANY conflict in being a good, upstanding Mormon and having the views that I did.

So off I trotted to BYU, enticed more by its distance from my hometown than by its academics or social scene. When I got there, I was suddenly broadsided by the worst the Morridor has to offer. I didn't like the people there, I didn't like my ward, and I didn't like the dating scene. I didn't agree when the school, in response to the "Defense of Marriage Act" in California, reminded all students to vote their values, and then proceeded to tell them what their values were. I was a bit bothered by things I didn't like in the church, but I again convinced myself that there was NO conflict in being a good, upstanding Mormon and not enjoying life at BYU.

I then left on my mission to Brazil. A mission to me was something I never contemplated NOT doing. I felt that this was my chance to do good in the world, but these high hopes were dashed when I realized that I had been called to serve in what I remember as a "Nazi Mission". Most of our rules looked like they came straight out of some fascist guidebook. We were told to baptize at all costs, and that the only reason bad things happened to us was that we lacked faith. I didn't buy into that whole mess, and I found myself increasingly at odds with the mission leadership. I never got "promoted" past the "rank" of District Leader, but I found ways to do my job. I baptized a lot of good people, and I stuck up for my missionaries through thick and thin. I cared for those that I served, regardless of what my leaders said. Although it exhausted me emotionally, physically and psychologically, I told myself that there was no reason I couldn't be a good, upstanding Mormon without being a Rule Nazi at the same time.

It was in the mission field that I realized that I wasn't a "burning in your bosom" type of Mormon either. I rarely felt the spirit, and when I did, it always seemed manufactured. But I still believed, so I convinced myself that maybe I was just one of those people that had an inherently harder time feeling the spirit. There's still room for those type of people in heaven as long as they follow the rules, right?

When I got home, I went back to BYU. But instead of finding myself a nice, submissive Provo girl to be my wife, I hung out a lot with my secular friends that attended UVSC. During this time, I still never drank or slept around, and I still clung to my core beliefs. I had convinced myself that I could be a new type of Mormon: one that was tolerant of gays, abortion, other religions, multiple earrings, tattoos, the University of Utah, and other things that my TBM friends despised. I thought that I could be a hero of a new brand of Mormonism, or at least be a liberal Mormon in the Kirby tradition without sacrificing my core values.

About this time, I realized what I was doing. Slowly but surely, I was chipping away at the religious "beliefs" that I didn't really believe. I had abandoned a lot of the reasons that many of my friends and family believed in the church. I didn't like the social situations. I didn't "feel it". I didn't get a psychological rush by getting all up in arms about every little thing that came out of the mouth of a GA. I realized that if I was to stay in the church, the core doctrines I still believed in had damned well be able to stand on their own merits. So I started studying.

I went into the endeavor feeling that my studies would reinforce my Mormon beliefs. What I found, of course, was a world of peepstones, treasure hunting, massacres in mountain meadows, polygamous acts with 14-year-olds, changes to the temple ceremonies, and on and on. What was this church I had always believed in?

All of this could have culminated in some great struggle of faith vs. knowledge. But it didn't. It was anticlimactic, really. I came to the logical conclusion that if "truth", the last thing keeping me in the church, wasn't on my side, I needed to leave. And with that, I walked away. December 28, 2003, was my last "real" trip to church. I no longer considered myself to be a member. I was finally "free", having realized that there was no way (or reason) to reconcile my beliefs with my religion.

At that point, I was still at BYU, awaiting my time to transfer to the U of U. So I had to hide the fact that I had left the church. The last thing my transcript needed was an expulsion due to honor code violations. So I spent the next few months following the suggestions of one of the characters in "1984". I kept many of the little rules (home teaching, especially) so no one suspected that I was breaking the big ones. I went to church for five minutes a week, all decked out in my three-piece suit and *gasp* colored shirt, so that people at least could say that they saw me there.

Once I got to Salt Lake City, the transformation was complete. I moved in with a friend that had never been Mormon, and I just started living my life as a non-religious person in a religious town. I didn't drink too much, I didn't sleep around, and I didn't go completely loco. I just lived my life with a few less restrictions than before, and that was that.

It's not to say that things haven't been tough. My old group of friends, mostly Mormons, don't accept me as much as they used to. My family has struggled with it, but has been mostly civil about the whole mess. My mom, who is a convert, buys into this idea (unsanctioned by Mo. Inc., of course), that family ties are strong regardless of religion. And my dad, bless his heart, is just a good guy that has never wanted anything more than to be a good family man. Even my extended family, full of GAs and mission presidents, is starting to realize that I'm not a bad person. I guess I'm lucky in the grand scheme of things.

So that leads me to where I am now, halfway across the country from Utah and twice the distance to Kolob away from my former religion. It's weird, but I don't regret my past one bit. I'm happier than I've ever been, and I remember the old adage: you wouldn't be who you are if not for who you were. I'm sure that I wouldn't be the same person (that I'm quite fond of) today if I hadn't come from the background I did. I'm always quick to raise a glass to my Mormon past and the post-Mormon future it led me to.

So there you have it, my epic story. Looking back, I realize that the facts of the story always hinted at the fact that I'd leave Mormonism later on. You might say that it was inevitable that I would leave. Applying that knowledge to those around me, especially two of my younger siblings, I see a bright future. I see people that question things in the same way that I did, that express concerns with the same "won't let THAT ruin my testimony" attitude that I did, that address their world with the same curiosity that I always have. I hope that one day they'll join us in the Post-Mormon community. And I hope that my courage in leaving will help them find their way.