Hey everyone, welcome to today’s episode of Beyond the Shadow of Doubt. I am so excited and thrilled for this conversation.
Good to be here.
I often connect with podcast guests on social media. A lot of things are virtual these days—lots of virtual friendships, virtual connections. When I found your Instagram account called FAMPROX—F-A-M-P-R-O-C-S—your take, your direction, your content really resonated with me and I knew we just had to have a conversation. Thank you for coming on.
Sometimes the algorithm gets it right.
Sometimes it does and sometimes it annoys the heck out of me. To start off, I’d like you to take a minute and introduce yourself to our listeners—share what you’d like to about your background, your family, faith of origin. I never like to assume. This podcast does have a reach of those from the LDS faith and beyond. Just because mine is of the LDS faith background doesn’t mean all the listeners are, and I really try to be inclusive in that way.
Sure. All right—my name is Blair. I grew up in Utah. I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I consider myself a Mormon. I know that word has been outlawed by a lot of church members, but I still consider myself to be a Mormon. I was raised here in Utah. My family of origin is Mormon as well. Not everybody in the family has stayed in the church. I served a mission for the church in Wisconsin. I worked for the church for almost a decade at BYU at the Neal A. Maxwell Institute for Religious Scholarship, which is still there and still doing good work. I did a podcast with them during the time I was there. A lot of those episodes are still up, so if people want to find past stuff, I’ve worked on interviewing people about different religions, including Mormonism. That’s still up there.
I’m married, got some kids, have a little dog. I live in Salt Lake City and I love to read and podcast, and my day job is in the nonprofit sector—so lots of different things going on for me.
Awesome. I didn’t realize you were in the nonprofit sector now. I did see, when I was doing a little research on your background, that you hosted that podcast at the Maxwell Institute.
Very cool.
I’ve listened to some of those episodes myself. As you know—if you’ve listened to one or more of my episodes—I am all about normalizing faith journeys: that no two are alike, and it’s supposed to be that way. We don’t have to feel our journey needs to look like the person next to us or another member of our family or by a certain list or checking off boxes. That’s actually what makes them so beautiful and, to me, a manifestation of our connection with the Divine.
I would love to start with you sharing some about your faith journey with us. I know for me it’s often a significant life event that introduces an opportunity to experience a shift. Sometimes we resist it, sometimes we’re in denial about it, sometimes we’re kind of shoved into it. For me, I’ve said this before on other episodes: I experienced a pivot in my faith journey when I learned my kiddo identified as LGBTQ+. That’s been five-plus years ago now. I’d love for you to share when you experienced something like that. I don’t think there’s ever a single moment—there are often multiple—but maybe one or two experiences that stand out that really have shaped your faith journey and where you’re at today. Share as much or as little as you feel comfortable.
Sure. Like I said, I was raised in the church. I grew up in Layton here in Utah, kind of a little suburb, and it was a pretty typical ward. There wasn’t a lot of Mormon royalty or things like that. My family certainly doesn’t come from any Mormon royalty.
Really quick, for those not of the LDS faith background, can you share what you mean by “Mormon royalty”? I know what you mean.
Sure. Some people have really strong emotional ties to their faith because their family has been in the church for a long time. They might trace their ancestors back to the days when the church was founded or to pioneers who came across the plains to Utah to find religious freedom and set up a new place where the church could flourish. “Mormon royalty” would be connected to those pioneer ancestors or to current church leadership. The church is led by a Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and a Quorum of the Seventy—comprising men who hold ecclesiastical authority. Some people put a lot of stock into that, and a lot of their identity is tied up in it. So when people experience doubt, it can be a lot more personal or tied up even more in their sense of self and history.
For me, my Mormonism was very much located in my family and my ward—singing the songs I grew up singing in Primary: “I Am a Child of God, and He has sent me here, has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.” That was very much my Mormonism: really traditional-looking family, a stay-at-home mom, a father who provided, a mother who nurtured—very by the book.
My personal testimony solidified more when I took seminary in ninth grade—started to think more about taking ownership over my own faith. I had a really inspirational seminary teacher. We were studying the New Testament that year. I feel like I got a lot closer to Christ at that time on a personal level, so it became more than just a worldview; it was a conversion process for me. “This really is meaningful to me, and I want to take greater ownership over my faith.”
When I was 15, my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer, and that really was a trial of faith because there was the possibility of praying and helping him survive, or the idea that our faith could save him—and it didn’t work out that way. He died about a year after he was diagnosed, and it really raised a lot of questions for me about what prayer was for, what faith could do, and my ideas about God being really intimately involved in my life—kind of helping pull the strings—evaporated at that point. Looking back, I can see it was safer for me to say, “I don’t think God killed my dad.” Some people said, “Well, God needed your dad. Heavenly Father needed him and called him home,” and that was really painful to hear. I didn’t believe it. But there were church members who would say things like that.
So I think that was the first kind of differentiation I started to feel with a lot of the people around me at church: “Oh, actually, I think differently on the whole ‘how God is involved’ thing than a lot of these people do.” But I was still really firm in the faith. I decided to serve a mission, got really interested in all the questions that could come up, and having answers to all those. I loved reading the scriptures. I loved finding quotes from general authorities—modern-day prophets and apostles—who could speak with authority and answer questions about what we need to do to be moral, what God expects of us, what happens to us when we die. I loved having an answer to everything.
But I also fell in love with learning about other faiths. It began as a way to present our own faith as a missionary: “I respect your belief in God—here are some things we believe about God—maybe these are better things to believe about God. What do you think?” But as I learned about other faiths more, it really lit a fire in me. I tried to attend as many different churches as I could. I read the Qur’an and other world scripture and got really interested in comparative religion. My question shifted away from “Why is Mormonism better?” to “What do these faiths have to offer?”
After my mission, I came home, kept attending church, tried to find a wife—I did all that successfully—but my questions and interest in religion kept expanding. I found myself studying religion as a graduate student. I wanted a degree in religious studies, and that’s the path I pursued. At that time I felt like that kind of education could really help me understand my faith better and also help me contribute to the church as well. Getting a job for the church really meant a lot to me—that I could bring my talents or the gifts I’d been given and consecrate those to the church.
Obviously, throughout that process, you run into a lot of questions, a lot of doubts. Through that whole process my own faith continued to evolve and change until I’m at where I’m at today.
Awesome. That is amazing that you got a graduate degree in religious studies.
Yeah, I got my master’s degree at Georgetown. I did my thesis on intellectual disabilities in Mormon thought and history. I have ADHD—kind of neurodivergent—and I was always interested in how that intersected with feeling the Spirit, having the Holy Ghost. What does personal revelation look like if your brain works differently? I could see how psychiatric medication could affect what it was like to feel the Spirit or to feel inspired by God. I had a lot of questions about that and studied what church leaders taught about what it means to be intellectually disabled, especially in the 19th century.
I felt like it was similar to studies about the church’s beliefs about Black people or about queer people—that we have these stories we locked onto early on in Mormonism and those stories persist, but maybe if we turned the tape back, we could have gone a different way or understood things differently. I did that with intellectual disabilities to say, maybe the ways that we think about what it means to be disabled could be better than what they are.
That was really fun. When I finished that up, I got the job at BYU and started working at the Maxwell Institute.
That sounds fantastic. Sorry—my microphone is giving me issues. It keeps kicking me off. Can you hear me okay?
Yeah.
Okay, it might switch to my laptop mic. I’m just going to roll with it. You said something in sharing about your background—several things. We’ll see how much time for all my ramblings!
No ramblings—it was fascinating. I would love to study—have a graduate degree in religious studies—the longer I’ve found myself on this pivot in my faith journey, this faith expansion. You mentioned something right after you shared how your dad passed away from brain cancer, which I’m very sorry to hear. That had to have been so challenging as a youth. Then I think you said that was the first sense of differentiation you started to feel. If you can remember, what made you want or decide to differentiate?
When you’re raised Mormon, you’re taught to listen to the Spirit and pay attention to your conscience and how you feel. Truth isn’t just propositional claims; it can invoke feelings in you and you feel affirmed in things. The “radar” that Mormonism gave me started pointing me in different directions than what a lot of church members—or the church itself—was teaching. When I’d hear people say, “Heavenly Father needed your dad on the other side,” meaning he needed to do missionary work for people who died without hearing the gospel—that he could go teach them and help them find truth in the afterlife—people would tell me that and I’d think, my dad had five kids ages 7 to 18, and my mom didn’t have a degree and was widowed and had to figure out everything. It felt like a real problem to say God was just like, “I’m going to go grab this guy to come be a missionary over here.” It didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel that confirmation that that was true.
The dissonance is that that feeling is supposed to affirm what I learned at church. The fact that it wasn’t doing that was disorienting. I went with it because this is the way I’d been figuring out truth at church anyway.
It was the tool you had at the time. You also mentioned—and this is kind of an example—that you ran into a lot of doubts. This was in reference to all the different religions of the world that you acquainted yourself with and studied, partly for graduate work—which sounds amazing. Can you speak to this idea: when you run into doubts, what is that process like for you when questions and doubts arise?
One of my goals in starting this podcast is to shed light on this perspective we have of the word “doubt”—at least the one I grew up with—that still permeates our culture. I think it’s changing, but “doubt” doesn’t have to have a negative connotation. Doubt is a good thing. It’s natural. It’s part of our human experience. So when questions and doubts enter the scene for you at various points in your life, how do you navigate that? Do you initially reject or resist? How do you end up embracing—or being willing to sit there and hold them in your hands and examine them?
Sure. I think I got two different messages about doubt growing up in Mormonism. On the one hand, doubt was definitely criminalized: doubt was bad, and we could get rid of it. We could banish it. We could know the truth of all things through pondering, praying, and receiving answers. If you had doubts, that might suggest you weren’t doing that properly—maybe you weren’t praying correctly. Maybe you had sinned or done something that made it so you couldn’t pick up on the messages God wanted to send you. Having doubts could call everything into question and threaten your relationship to your family.
I really like Melissa Inouye, a Mormon scholar who passed away. She would talk about how faith shouldn’t be like a string of Christmas lights—what she meant is: all the claims of the church strung along like lights. If you pull one bulb out, the whole string goes out. She says faith shouldn’t be that way. It needs to be more ecological, web-like, complicated, interesting, exploratory. I think I was encouraged to have that Christmas-light faith: If the Book of Mormon is true, then Joseph Smith is a prophet. If he’s a prophet, then God called him. If God called him, then the church is God’s true church. If that’s the case, I need to listen to current leaders and do what they encourage because they’ll lead me back to God. That’s the way to live. If you pull a bulb out, the whole string goes out.
Now, that’s doubt on one hand—doubt’s bad. On the other hand, I also received plenty of messages that doubt was important. I should doubt what “the world” tells me. I should doubt that a family can be successful if there’s a devil, of course. I should doubt that queer people would be approved or loved of God as they are rather than as something that needs to be fixed or is sinful. So there were things I was supposed to doubt. Doubt was discouraged in some directions and encouraged in others. It depended on directing it in support of what the church was claiming or doing versus against what the church was claiming or doing.
That’s a really interesting viewpoint. I haven’t thought of it that way before, but you’re right. It’s kind of a false dichotomy. Doubt is good if you’re using it as a tool in a prescribed way, versus maybe your own way or a way that feels intuitively right or good for you.
Yeah. To your point about doubt being positive: I agree. Faith can be strengthened through doubt. Doubt is a core component of faith. I don’t think the opposite of faith is doubt; I think the opposite is certainty—things you’ve probably talked about with other guests. I also think doubt can play a role if I want to pursue something that would be unhealthy or hurt other people: doubt can be a message that says, “Hold on for a minute and consider whether that’s right.” So I view doubt as very neutral tool that can be used for positive, enriching things or destructive things that shut us down. I wish those were the messages I got at church more explicitly. The church played multiple sides of doubt; it just didn’t explore it as a neutral tool and ask, “What good can doubt do and what damage could doubt do?”
How do you personally—since doubt is neutral—determine in a given situation how to use it?
I triangulate from the values I believe and whether those values are manifest in what I do or support. I do that in tandem with people I love and care about. You can do that at church—you triangulate with church members. That process can damage us if we start going against values.
For example, I have a value that God loves everyone. That means God loves someone who’s gay. Someone might say, “God does love someone who’s gay—but wants them to change.” If I have a doubt about that, I think about the gay person at work—they’re super cool. They have a partner they really love. Their relationship looks like mine to my wife: ups and downs, a refining school where you lift each other, push each other to become better, don’t expect perfection. Marriage is a school of becoming better and being loved and supported. That same thing can happen in a gay family as in a straight family. So why would the church put walls up against that?
We all do this math: How do my values play out in the real world? Does my value map fit the territory? When it doesn’t, we get cognitive dissonance. We get scared, and we might retreat and put it “on the shelf.” That’s easier when I’m not the gay person—the one wondering, “Can I ever have a loving relationship in this life?”
Right—when it doesn’t touch you, it’s easier to separate oneself from it physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.
Yeah, and for me—being a white, male, cisgender, heterosexual man—everything was set up for me to feel comfortable. I didn’t have to run into the same dissonance or difficulties that a lot of women, queer people, trans folks, or others do—people wrestling with faith who confront it more directly than I did. So I had more time to figure out what I wanted to do with doubt and how to proceed. That was a privilege and a luxury.
I appreciate you mentioning that. I’m always curious—impressed—eager to hear stories of those who, using your words, are cisgender, heterosexual, white, male. For all intents and purposes, you have what we would call privileges, and yet you’re willing to put it on the line—or suspend it—in pursuit of your inner peace, following your intuition, questioning or at least being willing to put doubts and questions on the table and examine them. That’s not always the case in someone who has that privilege. I want to acknowledge and appreciate that.
Yeah, it’s a work in progress too. The acknowledgement is different than living it out.
For sure. I realize there’s a lot at play here. I resonate with what you’re sharing about core values. You used the word triangulate. I think this is similar for me—they’ve turned into a compass. Tell me more about what you mean by triangulate.
We all look around—we do this from the time we’re little. When my kids were toddlers and a loud bang happened, their first reaction was to look at me or my wife: “Okay, something unexpected and scary happened. Mom and Dad, are you okay? Okay—then I might be okay.” That doesn’t leave us. We’re always taking the temperature of the room.
Within Mormonism, we do that through testimony bearing—we speak our truths, we say what we believe (and usually what we “know”). A lot of people say, “I know this. I know the church is true.” Triangulation is a humble way to check where we’re at. It’s a two-edged sword, because you can triangulate with people who take you far off the path of reasonable action or belief. But it’s inescapable. Nobody really lives completely in their own head without picking up cues from others.
So when we’re triangulating, we’re checking in: “Here’s where I’m at. Where are you at? Okay, I can negotiate with that,” or “Maybe I should change on that.”
Looking to external cues—teachers, leaders…
Right. And the church tries to set up a hierarchy for that. It says: here are the things you should triangulate with. The number one thing is the president of the church—the prophet—and then the apostles. You should triangulate with that first and foremost, and if you’re not in alignment with that, then you’re the problem; you need to adjust.
For me, I’m triangulating with way more than that. I’m triangulating with values instilled in me from Primary: “I’ll walk with you, I’ll talk with you, that’s how I’ll show my love for you” and “Jesus said love everyone, treat them kindly too.” I’m triangulating with what my parents taught me. I’m triangulating with my wife and her value system. I’m triangulating with feminists—with people who’ve thought more about discrimination, sexism, misogyny. When I did religious studies, I triangulated with other faith traditions: Are there concords? Differences? Where are they coming from? What resonates with me?
Are there things I could learn from instead of seeing my faith as something to take to the world—to see it as something I bring with me into the world, that will be changed by that process, and that I would expect to change? That’s scary. It can feel more comfortable to have a simple triangulation: “I know the authorities; I’ll just follow that.” I don’t have to think; I can outsource doubts and struggles by deciding to follow what they say. That’s an easy way. Temperamentally, I’ve never been that kind of person. If my dad were still around, he’d tell you all about that.
I’m a very visual person, so as you’re talking I’m imagining expanding your triangle to multiple triangles, almost turning into an octagon or decagon—multiple points you’re cross-checking. It’s a healthy way of viewing your life and experience. I agree, the easier way is to just look at that top point: “They say this, that’s what I need to do.” That’s your North Star—less energy, little or no critical thinking.
But the more triangle points you add to your orbit, the more… I’m going to shift slightly and say this is why policies that have recently been released in the LDS Handbook—why those… well, I could list a lot of things. They’re hurtful, painful, confusing. I don’t feel or see the love in them. And I think, after hearing you, it has to do with where my triangle points are. I don’t see queer individuals—specifically this policy relates to transgender and non-binary individuals—as the policy frames them. I’ve been open on this podcast and others: I have a child who identifies as transgender, and I look at those policies and they do not align with my firsthand experience as a mother. I have interviewed many people who identify as transgender or non-binary or intersex, or parents of kids who identify this way. That is simply not who they are.
Policies—rules, principles, doctrine, tenets—kind of blend. I know the definitions differ, but for this topic, when something gets put in a Handbook—it perpetuates false stereotypes of these individuals, and that adds fuel to the fire of fear that already exists.
So your process of triangulation is taking your faith journey into your own hands. Yes, you can look to external cues—we naturally will—but one of those points has to be you: your inner wisdom, your intuition. If that ability isn’t encouraged nor cultivated, I fear someone would look at a policy like that and just go to that top point of a basic triangle and say, “This is what our leaders said. End of discussion.” There’s danger there.
As a parent, I’ve seen firsthand—and as a friend of other parents with transgender and non-binary kiddos—those policies send the message that something is inherently wrong with you. Therefore the child is likely to believe, “Why would a God who created me this way love me? Why would I want to connect with this divine being?” I love this concept of triangulation.
It’s really good. And it’s also really Mormon. How do we get truth? We listen to testimony, and then we feel a confirmation. We’re supposed to study it out in our minds—it’s not just feeling. With transgender issues, for example, I used to believe being trans was wrong or some kind of mental disorder or psychosis. That’s how it was listed in the DSM before the current edition—same with being gay. I certainly believed that until I met a few trans folks and thought, I don’t feel good thinking they’re just “crazy people.” I hadn’t listened to them. So I bracketed those assumptions and listened to what they had to say. When I started listening to their stories, it started to sound reasonable to me. Maybe they’re still misguided? Maybe it’s still some kind of disorder? But they didn’t sound like that.
So I started looking into the science—biology, differences, gender as distinct from sex—and all the great queer theory and scientific studies. I learned about intersex people. I started to think, okay, their personal stories sound right, the science is lining up. I can see why it didn’t before, because we’ve seen it with how people felt about gay people, or about people of color and all the “scientific” ideas about their inferiority rooted in societal prejudice. I thought, I think I’m wrong about trans folks. I’ve got to repent. I’m converted—underwent a conversion in a classic Mormon way.
Then the question comes up—the important question in Mormonism: Can I differ from the church? Can I have a different belief or opinion? If I do, what do I do about that? Do I mention it? Do I keep it to myself? Do I testify? Do I advocate? There are a lot of decisions after the conversion.
The other thing about policy: We’ve seen throughout Mormon history people want a distinction between policy and doctrine. Policy is procedure; doctrine is teaching or belief. Some say, “Oh, Black people couldn’t hold the priesthood, but that was just a policy.” First, that’s not really true—we had plenty of doctrine about why they couldn’t. But even if “it was just a policy,” I’d say in the end that’s what mattered, because policy is how we treated people. The New Testament says, “Why call ye me Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” You can say doctrine all you want, but how it affects people is what matters.
So to me, we get it backwards if we say “it’s just a policy.” The policy is actually what matters. These new policies that restrict transgender people from participating as they are—from using the bathroom they should use, from participating in Young Women’s or Young Men’s—or the fact that a non-binary kid: where are they going to go? Should a trans woman attend Relief Society? Should a trans man be ordained to the priesthood? According to the policies, the answer is no. There’s just no place for a trans member of the church other than just being there and accepting a second-class citizenship in the kingdom. Policy is what matters. Doctrine informs policy, but policy is what we’re doing.
I think the reason I said they all blend together for me is essentially the same concept—the outcome is the same whether you call it doctrine or policy. They’re guidelines in writing about how to treat these individuals. Going back to triangulation: if I’m doing those cross-checks, one of those is what I know and have learned from personal experience about Christ and His ministry. Christ was with the marginalized. That’s where He concentrated His time—with those who were cast out, not accepted, not seen, not loved by general society. In many ways there are parallels to what’s going on with this policy. Individuals are getting cast out. I’m going to call a spade a spade.
They are. I agree. You’re going to the story of Christ from the scriptures—you’re triangulating from stories in the New Testament. In the church, people could say, “Well, the living prophet says this.” We’re setting up a hierarchy of who decides what the current truth is. It runs against the grain in Mormonism to use the scriptures against prophetic leadership. That’s highly discouraged. People have to become comfortable with being willing to do that. The church itself doesn’t make a lot of space to do that. That’s probably one of the biggest problems in the contemporary church—not making space for different perspectives.
Then you have to decide: What am I going to do with this? Does this mean I don’t attend anymore? Does it mean I attend and find my trans friends and attend with them—if that’s what they want? Would I be better off saying honest thoughts like, maybe the church isn’t a safe place for a trans youth right now, and maybe I shouldn’t try to sacrifice a trans kid to make some cultural intervention so the church can improve? There are a lot of decisions if you decide it’s okay to differ from the church.
As far as doubts: I don’t harbor doubts about my trans friends anymore. They’re just not there. I believe them. I feel like I understand the science well and I feel good about it. So when it comes to doubt, that doubt then gets turned back on what the church is trying to enforce or make me believe or participate in. That’s where disaffection starts to happen—people disconnect from the church. We see this in political parties, families—contexts where we’re not in alignment with what we’re “supposed” to be.
I’ll add a couple things and then we can move on. Here’s what I’ve learned. Underlying so much of this is people don’t want to feel uncomfortable. They shy away from tolerating discomfort—whether that’s speaking up and what that activates in their nervous system, what it might mean for their belonging. And two: our leaders are humans. All humans make mistakes—and I don’t even like the word “mistake” much anymore. Life is a learning process for all of us. We learn by doing. Sometimes choices or words—we realize there’s a better way; we can do better. Like Maya Angelou said, “When you know better, you do better.”
Just because we are connecting with that sacred, personal inner connection with God—acknowledging that for ourselves and maybe sharing it with others—doesn’t mean we are by default implying anything negative about those in leadership positions. It means we’re being human and listening to ourselves. That cultivates healthy, positive, productive mental, spiritual, and emotional health. There was something else I wanted to say…
It does. I’ll add: that’s where it gets hard too—to say, I could make it make sense that leaders are flawed and I can still participate. But I want to be careful that I’m not doing that at the expense of the marginalized; that I’m not putting them on the shelf and saying, “I don’t like what’s happening, but it’s not directly affecting me, so I’ll put it aside because there are other good things.” Some great apologetics for the church are done—great faith-promoting work—but it doesn’t do enough digging in for the marginalized. Sometimes these efforts at making ourselves feel better about being in the church come at the expense of people who are less privileged, people who could stand to be treated so much better by the church.
I want people to find healthy ways to rethink their faith. I don’t advise people to stay or leave the church directly. I’m not like, “You should leave,” or “You should stay.” I want people to do what is healthy for them—and that could change at any point. I do always want to go back to: Is what I’m doing contributing to—or reducing—the marginalization of people who have it worse than me? Am I short-circuiting my own qualms, making me feel okay? People make mistakes, people hurt. I can accept that prophets hurt people, that leaders hurt people. What am I personally going to do about it? That’s an individual decision. I know people who have left, people who are still in, people unsure. I have love and respect for people all over the spectrum.
Yes. It’s a very unique, tricky, difficult space to occupy. But I have found God in these marginal spaces, for sure. What you’re saying is so true—being willing to ask, “Is what I’m doing contributing to the marginalization of folks who are already deeply marginalized?”
One other footnote: I also try not to make myself a hero—“Isn’t that great?” Being mad at the church about how it treats trans people doesn’t actually help trans people. It doesn’t help my queer friends for me to say, “The church is wrong about gay people—screw that,” or “I’m going to stay and make it better.” Neither necessarily helps. What else am I doing? Am I voting for people who further justice for marginalized people? Am I using my voice to publicly oppose things that hurt trans people? Am I talking to friends and family and sharing my beliefs and trying to enlist more people to be on the side of the marginalized?
There’s a difference between being an ally—which can be more performative and about me—and being an accomplice, which means I’m going to get into the trenches with you. I’ve seen—and been tempted myself—to point out “the church is wrong about X” and be done. That’s not the work. There’s plenty more to do.
Don’t think you’ve done enough just by disagreeing. I feel that. I have really appreciated this conversation—so many good points, so much meaningful discourse.
I have a couple more questions. One is: can you share what your Instagram and podcast are about—what’s behind them, what brought that up for you?
Thanks. The Instagram account mainly tries to get people to listen to the podcast. I love podcasting. When I left BYU, I wanted to continue, so I started a podcast called “Fireside with Blair Hodges,” interviewing authors about a lot of the books I didn’t get to do while I was at BYU—the “we can’t do that at BYU” stuff. It’s definitely more religiously directed.
I’ve also been thinking about being raised in a religion that taught me there’s one true way to be a family—a nuclear family: mom nurtures, dad provides, kids obey—this is how the world needs to work. In graduate studies it became pretty obvious that model of the family was temporary—kind of a European import into America at a particular time in history. Families have looked way different over human history. There are many ways to be a family. We could learn a lot from them.
So I thought: I want to think about all the “family proclamations” (plural)—all the different ways to be a family. That raises questions about gender—proper gender roles? Questions about sexuality—who we’re attracted to and what’s right and wrong?
“Family Proclamations” is a way to explore those questions with the best books I can find.
We’re taught to seek wisdom out of the best books, right?
That’s a Mormon scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants. I thought, I’m going to find the best books I can about families, divorce, foster care, adoption, infertility, postpartum depression, menstruation, masculinity, being trans, being non-binary, being asexual—everything I can think of. I’ll talk to those authors—hear their stories, why they wrote, what they’re about. That’s what the show is: re-exploring what it means to be a family, to present as a certain gender, and to experience our sexuality. The Instagram account highlights things from the episodes, but the podcast is where the good stuff is.
Amazing. I will leave that information in the show notes so folks can find and follow you and listen.
The last question I like to ask my guests has to do with the title of my podcast. I dropped the “A” on purpose—trying to move past negative connotations again. What does it mean to you to live beyond the shadow of doubt?
Okay. I love this reframing. I love how you’ve… You’ve taken this language. I see this in the Book of Mormon where Nephi quotes Isaiah differently than in the Bible—he’s riffing. I see you doing this. It’s a wonderful scriptural thing to do. Instead of “beyond a shadow of a doubt,” which basically says “I don’t have any doubts,” we’re beyond the shadow—and the doubt is the shadow that looms, ominous, harmful. You’re saying, “We’re beyond the shadow of doubt.” That doesn’t mean doubt is gone. It means we’ve found that the sun can shine where doubt exists.
That’s so cool.
It made me think of an interview I did with Mary Rakow. She wrote “This Is Why I Came.” Mary went through a deep period of doubt and anger at God. She says she broke up with God—literally drove to a church, went inside, and said, “God, I’m done.” She envisioned a thread holding her to God and envisioned herself cutting it. She was done.
Then she wrote one of the most remarkably spiritual books I’ve read. It’s about a woman who doubts God, but returns to find God after 30 years, and rewrites the Bible—Bible stories rewritten through the perspective of mostly women. A terrific book. In my interview I asked about a line where the woman says, “I want my integrity and my faith both at the same time.” I asked Mary what she meant, and she said:
“Everyone wants their integrity and their faith at the same time. A seven-year-old wants that. A 90-year-old wants that. Who doesn’t want it? Who wants a fake God? Who wants a God that’s too small? Who wants a God who does stuff that we wouldn’t even do in our humanity? I mean, we still have mercy after all. We want a God who’s at least as good as we are at our best. We want something way beyond our imagining. And if we don’t have experience of that, or we don’t have teachings that lead us toward that, then it’s actually the moral thing to say, ‘This is not a God I accept.’ And that is a very religious thing to do.”
That is beautiful. I love that. Every time I ask that question, I love the responses I get. I learn something—every spin is a little different and so cool. I loved this. These conversations are so helpful—and selfishly healing—to me.
I think a lot of podcasters podcast for ourselves. I can certainly say that.
I just have a few more quick questions I throw out to all my guests—one- or two-word answers, just to get to know you better.
Tell us your favorite book—or the one you’re reading right now.
I don’t really have a favorite book. The one I’m reading right now is a little awkward because it’s about polyamory—and I’m not polyamorous and I’m not looking to become polyamorous. But in doing a show about different families and relationship structures, I knew I’d eventually get to that because some people practice it. I had questions and biases and prejudices about it. I’m reading a book by a therapist who’s worked with polyamorous people. It has a lot to say about all relationships—not just jealousy—but good communication, keeping agreements, setting boundaries, being connected to your partner, and also being able to differentiate. I’m learning a lot about relationships in general from a book about polyamory—something I’m not interested in pursuing. That’s why I love doing this show—so many different ways of being in a relationship can teach us all kinds of things.
We can still learn so much from them. Fascinating. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
Sort of both. It depends. I used to be very extroverted, and over the past five years I’ve become much more introverted. I definitely need to recharge my social battery and take better emotional care of myself. So I’m somewhere in between.
Are you a night owl or a morning lark?
Both—but this is a product of ADHD. My brain just keeps going, and my wife wants to go to bed at 9 or 10, and I’m like, what? I could start a project then. But when the sun comes up, I’m like, let’s go—I’ve got stuff to do. I love to sleep in on weekends and I love an afternoon nap—don’t get me wrong. I love my sleep. But yeah, both sprinkled in there. Probably not the most healthy way to live.
Tell us your favorite artist.
I don’t think I have a single favorite. Depends on the situation. I love Brian Kershisnik’s art—he’s a friend, though, so there’s that. His art has always appealed to me—I love his style and the stories he’s telling. He’s a Mormon artist who doesn’t necessarily do Mormon art, definitely not across his whole portfolio. I should expand my horizons, but Brian’s art is terrific.
Do you have a celebrity crush?
We just finished the latest season of “The Bear,” a terrific show about a restaurant in Chicago. The lead character, Carmy—I think he’s a pretty handsome dude. I don’t consider myself bi; I’m pretty hetero. But he’s a handsome guy. It’s funny—I’d want to hang out with him, see what’s up. My wife is like, no way—he’s so toxic. I’m like, oh, but he’s damaged and has baggage; I want to give this guy a hug. She’s like, “I’m scared of him.” We have different opinions. He’s kind of been my little crush lately. By the way, his blue eyes are really beautiful.
Do you do still or carbonated water, or are you a diet soda fan?
I converted to seltzer water because my wife would drink it a lot. At night, we’d be on the couch and she’d have seltzer water. I wouldn’t want to get up and go to the sink, so I’d take a sip of hers and be like, this stuff is so gross. But over six months, I realized I was drinking more of it.
“Hey, careful there!”
Then I was like, oh, I guess I could get my own can now. I probably drink at least one every night. They’re a nice treat.
Finally, the furthest place you’ve traveled?
Russia is the furthest. It’s the only place I’ve been outside the U.S. My partner served a mission there, got a graduate degree in Russian, taught Russian at the U for years. We went on our big Russia trip right before kids—absolutely outstanding. Moscow, St. Petersburg, smaller places like Pskov, and little places where she served. We also went to Ukraine—way awesome and much more friendly and at-home feeling. I don’t know if I’ll ever get back—geopolitically tragic. Russia’s doing terrible things in Ukraine. It’s not safe, especially for queer folks and marginalized folks. I don’t know that I’ll get back, but it was terrific. I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for my wife, who’s fluent and could be my guide. It’s not a place tourists go to vacation.
My husband and I got the opportunity to visit Moscow and St. Petersburg because I had an uncle at the embassy—special circumstances. That was years ago. Fantastic—such a great conversation. I’ll leave the links to Family Proclamations and Firesides in the show notes for guests to connect with you and reach out if they have questions. It’s been a pleasure.
Yeah, this has been fun.
So good to have you.
Thanks.
I forgot to tell you it’s me again.
It’s okay. Let me do it again then.
Okay—it’s been a pleasure to have you there.
Thank you. This has been a really great conversation.
I enjoyed it. It has.
Oh, I love that. I’m a little bit late for an appointment, but you know what? God knows what feeds my soul. This has been so good. Thank you. I appreciate your time. This will probably publish first of October. I’m kind of ahead—I had to get ahead because I’m going to the Gather Conference this weekend, and then I leave again at the end of September. If you could send me a headshot to use for social media posts and a bio, I’ll include that as well—anything you want to include is great.
Cool, yeah—I’ll send it now.
Awesome. I’ll let you know closer to when it’s going to publish.
Okay, great. Thank you so much. I have a book that’s going to publish soon about my journey—it’s called Transparency. Maybe I’ll come on and talk about it when that happens.
Who’s publishing it?
J.O.A. Publishing—Joan of Arc. She’s on Instagram. She specifically—she’s a book medium. She’s been helping me get it out because it’s a… Anyway, I’ll let you know.
Cool. Sounds good. So lovely to meet you and have this conversation. Thank you.