To the Rez

The Lord, it seemed, wanted to give me one more chance.

As Albuquerque — and my failures with Elder Davis — disappeared behind me, I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

The Rez. To train.

I'd heard the stories since I was first dropped off at the mission home. They said the Rez, the Navajo reservation, was a magical place where anything could happen. Skinwalkers — Indian witches with the ability to shapeshift into animals — appeared in the rearview mirror, only to vanish seconds later. Dogs with red eyes prowled streets between wooden homes. You drove a four-wheel-drive pickup.

Going with me to explore this wild land of mystery was a brand new greenie.

His name was Elder Findlay. When I picked him up on the way from Albuquerque to the rez, he greeted me with a stilted wave and immediately launched into a full verbal biography. On the two-hour ride to Gallup, the transfer point closest to our area, I heard his family secrets, stories from his high school job, tales of his brief time at college, descriptions the girl ostensibly waiting at home for him, and the detailed plot synopsis of the new Pixar movie Cars.


Gallup was a little blotch of civilization the middle of the desert, but I'll save the full description of that singular place for later. At the moment, Elder Findlay and I were stopping in Gallup only momentarily, taking advantage of cheap food at the Wal-Mart before embarking to great beyond.