Drunk Indians

Elder Findlay and I settled on the West Mesa community in Crownpoint to tract.

The third or fourth house had no lawn. A few dogs were chained to stakes dug into the dirt, dodging abandoned farming implements and trash in their attempts to bite the heads off the intruders. Elder Findlay and I skirted the driveway, hiding behind a battered station wagon to make it to the porch while remaining outside of the reach of the two dogs, both of which looked to have been infected with a zombie virus that would fully take in a few hours. Long strings of spittle dangled from fang-lined jaws underneath maniacal eyes.

We banged on the door. I checked my supply of copies of the Book of Mormon in my backpack and pass-along cards, the cards offering free Church books or movies, in my pockets behind my nametag. Fully stocked, I awaited the arrival at the threshold of the owner of the house.

The screen door screeched and thudded along its track as it opened. A bearded Navajo man with bloodshot eyes appeared.

"Yes?"

"Hello," I said. "We're missionaries and we're going around sharing a message about Jesus Christ. We'd love to come in and share it with you."

The man slurred something. I didn't catch it, but when he retreated into the house, he left the door opened. Elder Findlay and I exchanged glances and followed him.

A woman lay on the couch, a bottle of whiskey tottering precariously in her hand. A second man lay on the floor, staring straight up. Another look at Elder Findlay confirmed we both felt the same way: we weren't going to get anywhere with these people right now.

I opened my Book of Mormon and turned to the man who had come to the door, who seemed to have forgotten he had let us in ... if, of course, that had been his intention. I wrote our phone number in the front of a Book of Mormon and handed it to him.

The woman with the whiskey let the bottle topple from her hand. She murmured something as though sleeptalking, but her eyes were wide open.

"I know that the message we have to share will help you," I said, handing the Book of Mormon to the man. "Give us a call sometime soon."

On our way out, I tossed a pass-along card onto the chest of the man on the ground.