Tip No. 1 comes courtesy of the sisters. Use a golf ball to knock on doors. The sound is solid and the strategy saves knuckles, especially on a cold day.
Rain or shine, blazing heat or snowstorm, they're out knocking, teaching and trying to change lives. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has some 52,060 missionaries, according to the latest statistics, spanning the globe at any one time.
Here in Utah, roughly 600 missionaries serve in five missions with boundaries extending into surrounding states. In the Utah Salt Lake City Mission - which spans from Wendover, Nev., to Rawlins, Wyo. - about 100 missionaries, 40 percent of them from outside the United States, are making the rounds.
If the conservative attire and name badges don't give the elders and sisters away, the enthusiasm should. Unmistakable energy keeps these pairs going six days a week, from early morning to long past dark.
Sister Sariah DeVard and Sister Alexandra Santa Maria, both 22, are out "street contacting," making beelines across parking lots to share their message.
Their target audience?
"Every soul we see," says DeVard, of southern Illinois, who's off and running.
These companions are all smiles. They reach out for hugs when they can get them, yell out "Yeah!" in unison, flash a thumbs-up and applaud when people say they've read the Book of Mormon. They leave new acquaintances with affirmations such as "Hey, you're great!" and "Heavenly Father loves you."
Yvonne Bast, 36, grins as she sees the two coming her way. The divorced mother of three recently moved to West Valley City from Arizona, is living with her grandmother, a Baptist, and admits she's looking to get personally and spiritually grounded. She already has a copy of the Book of Mormon and promises she's been reading it.
"Oh, I knew you guys were going to catch me sooner or later," she says.
"Today's your day, Yvonne. Today is your lucky day," DeVard answers.
The sisters record Bast's address and phone number, in day planners affixed with images of church founder Joseph Smith, and persuade her to come later to a "family home evening" hosted by West Valley Utah Stake President Perry Gillette. Running into Bast was definitely a slam dunk, but the sisters are the first to say it isn't always so easy.
"That's why we're so excited," exclaims Santa Maria, of Lima, Peru. "And she's from our area, so we're reaping the benefits." r
With that they giggle and cry out, "Gotta go!" - their mantra for missionaries on the move.
Helping out: Elder Ryan Mourelatos and Elder Ryan Wood have been companions for six weeks. As of tomorrow, however, they will part ways. Wood, 20, who's from outside Oxford, England, is being transferred to Wyoming, and someone new will join Mourelatos, a 21-year-old from northern California. But that's tomorrow. Today is work as usual. And it's not as if Wood has much packing to do - a couple of suitcases holding, among other necessities, a few suits from Deseret Industries, purchased for about $20 a pop.
The rain is intermittent. The midday streets of new developments in Magna stand nearly empty. Repeated raps on the Garcias' door go unanswered; no-shows for teachings are part of the missionary experience, the elders say. An afternoon lesson with a family is postponed because the mother says she's rushing off to a doctor's appointment. Her 9-year-old daughter lingers by the missionaries in the home's entryway, looking up at the two, disappointed she won't have company. As consolation, they leave "a gift that'll reflect part of the message," a DVD titled "Finding Faith in Christ."
Additional copies of this teaching tool fill their car's trunk, as do copies of the Book of Mormon and "pass-along cards" to prompt requests for more information. Amid it all is a can of chicken soup to be delivered this afternoon to an investigator who's fallen sick.
"Anything we can do to help you out?" is a common question they pose on doorsteps. They've picked up leaves, put up drywall and shoveled snow. Their current project: retiling a bathroom for a recent convert. Lulu, an 84-year-old Mormon, invites them in for a visit but refuses to be photographed by the Tribune photographer: "Come back next Friday when I have my hair done." When the missionaries spot Jake, a wet and collared dog, wandering a neighborhood street, they borrow a reporter's cell phone to call its owner.
Broadening their experiences: Just as the missionaries hope to take care of those they meet, the LDS community takes care of the missionaries. Mission presidents and their wives step in as surrogate parents, attending to, for example, health concerns. Ward mission leaders act as point people, offering advice and prayers, volunteering to accompany missionaries on visits, passing off "referral slips" listing new contacts, acting as a link between the missionaries and bishops. Church members sign up to host missionaries for "dinner appointments."
The sisters recently found a large bag of candy, along with two toothbrushes, waiting on their doorstep. When they leave Tina Dillman, who's scheduled for her baptism, she offers them a choice of earrings made by her part-time jeweler husband.
After dinner in a member's home, the sisters walk out with decorated notepads, "perfect for letter writing." The elders leave their dinner appointment loaded up with industrial-sized bags of cold cereal - Cinnamon Toasters, Coco Roos, Marshmallow Mateys - compliments of the host, who works for Malt-O-Meal.
They're constantly meeting new people and broadening their experiences. Wood speaks of an investigator from Africa who taught him to "love things you don't always like. . . . He always fed us wild rice with guppies."
With all this intrigue, support and their nonstop schedules, it's hard to find time to be homesick, they say. Given the limited opportunities they have to connect with their own families, that's a good thing.
Missionaries are allowed to call home only twice a year: Christmas and Mother's Day. On their "P-Day," or preparation day, they are free to do laundry, write letters, grocery shop, visit public libraries to send e-mails and reinvigorate for the days ahead. For the time they serve, they go without newspapers, television, video games, cell phones - most all the trappings of young adults today. Music, of the "uplifting" variety only, including hymns, is permitted. For those 18 or 24 months, their focus on missionary work is the priority, bar none.
Polite skepticism: At a West Valley City bus stop, DeVard and Santa Maria are met with some skepticism, albeit polite. One young man says, as the sisters move on to someone else, that he took a copy of the Book of Mormon and gave them his number "to make them go away." He adds he doesn't answer calls from numbers he doesn't recognize, so he's not worried about their attempts to follow up.
Another young woman, sitting on a bench, looks up at the sisters and isn't afraid to challenge them.
"I am baptized," she tells them. "Baptized by the proper authority."
They whip out a picture of Jesus, in an effort to find common ground.
"I don't believe there is a picture of Christ," she quips, looking at the white man on their card. "It's symbolic; he's not a color." r
"You believe in the Bible?" they ask her.
"Yes, I do," the woman answers.
They speak of the value of prophets, how they have always offered a bridge between Heavenly Father and people. When they mention church President Gordon B. Hinckley, the woman's eyebrows shoot up and she interrupts with a "Who?"
They move on to Joseph Smith, DeVard gesticulating madly as Santa Maria stares at the woman in front of them.
"Open your heart and open your mind, and by the power of the Holy Ghost, you'll know that it's true," Santa Maria pleads.
Eventually, they walk away, but not with lost hope.
"I want others to have this joy," DeVard says. "Our motivation is pure. It's not like we're paid for this."
"Even people who reject the message, they don't reject us," offers Santa Maria, who likens every testimony shared to "a seed" planted. "We don't know what will happen to her [later]."
From there, they set off for tracting - door-to-door knocks in neighborhoods selected after studying a map and going "by the spirit." A man covered in tattoos, sporting a NASCAR T-shirt and a Jägermeister lanyard, declines the sisters' encouragement to pray for the truth.
"I'm definitely not putting you down," he tells them. "I just do it my own way. I can't believe that anyone can tell me more than I feel."
'A special honor': Missions served in Utah are unlike any others, to be sure. For one, residents generally have heard of the LDS Church, know who the missionaries are and can spot them hundreds of feet away. This cuts down on introduction time, which can be helpful, but it also means they deal with prejudice, even hostility.
The sisters and elders share tales of slammed doors and occasional shouts from passers-by. Sean Jennings, a former missionary who recently returned home to Utah, says while leaving a West Valley City family home evening, "Well, I know [missionaries here] get honked at and flipped off more."
But knowing about the church isn't always a strike against them. Some missionaries and church officials argue Utahns' familiarity with the love, warmth and comfort provided by the LDS faith and community helps missionaries make their case.
In fact, the church reports that Utah missions - excluding the Temple Square Mission, which serves to welcome visitors - consistently count among the leading missions when it comes to new member baptisms. The church doesn't release a breakdown of baptism numbers by location, but worldwide exactly 243,108 converts were baptized in 2005.
To be in Salt Lake City, the headquarters of the LDS Church, carries a certain cachet for some. Santa Maria remembers opening her call letter, in front of her whole ward, and not being able to finish reading because she became so emotional. To go where the pioneers went is a "special honor," especially coming from so far away and from a poor community where many people will never see America, let alone Temple Square.
"I was excited," she recalls. "I knew that this place was the place where the Lord sent me."
DeVard looks on and says, "I can't top that. I jumped up and screamed."
Comfort in family and faith: Between her grown children and grandchildren who are living with her, Beverly Marrelli's mobile home is crowded. But since her husband, Roy, died two years ago, the result of asbestos-caused cancer, having family around is of comfort. Marrelli, 64, is Methodist. Her son Kevin, 35, is Catholic. Only daughter Tami, 29, is Mormon. Tami's young daughters have not yet been baptized in the LDS Church, but the hope is 9-year-old Takota soon will be.
The missionaries settle into their chairs, open up their Bibles and their copies of the Book of Mormon and begin to teach.
Wood reads from Scripture, reminding the assembled family that "before we came to this Earth, we lived with God."
They speak of the comforts in knowing God, about sin, of how Heavenly Father wants people to learn from their mistakes. Flipping their well-traveled books to John 3:16-17, they discuss how "through Jesus Christ we are saved." And they mention the "spirit world," which they describe as "a paradise, a place where [we] can rest."
But Tieanna, 6, who's folded up beneath her mother's arm, is less concerned about rest. She blurts out, "I'm hungry," mid-lesson, before Tami shushes her.
"There's no joke about it, this life is very hard," says Mourelatos. "But if I do as God commanded us to do, we can rest."
Kevin worries aloud about blood shed in God's name and speaks of his own struggles to do right.
"All I ask from God is that when I do die, God will say 'I'm proud of you,' " he says. "And no buts."
Beverly thinks back to Roy's suffering, tears up and remembers him saying, "I know God loves me, I just wish he didn't squeeze me so tight."
Pray for answers: Last stop for the sisters is a lesson for a 15-year-old girl named Danielle. She's perched on the couch near her LDS school friend, Megan, and Megan's mother, Karla McManama. Teachings for minors are pre-approved by parents, church officials say.
The sisters speak of Heavenly Father's love, Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith. They talk about the temple, which "keeps families together forever." They tell her about Hinckley, the modern-day prophet, and explain how he offers revelations former prophets couldn't have imagined, such as the lesson to stay away from pornography on the Internet.
The sisters encourage Danielle to pray for answers, to turn to Heavenly Father to find out if Joseph Smith was the prophet.
"We can know this book is true by praying," Santa Maria says, her highlight-filled Book of Mormon in hand.
"And I know it's true because I've prayed for it," DeVard adds.
Before leaving, they ask Danielle to offer a closing prayer. "Just say what's in your heart," they encourage her.
"Our Father in Heaven," the girl begins slowly. "Thanks for everything. For having these missionaries come and teach and stuff. And family. And help me to understand and stuff." She then curls up on the couch in the fetal position, as the McManamas sit by, smiling. r
A sense of belonging: Dreams of missionary work begin early for many, with songs such as "I Hope They Call Me on a Mission" being a mainstay for Mormon youth. For others, including Mourelatos, the itch comes later. The Californian converted to the LDS Church about 2- years ago, after a friend introduced him to the church and the gospel. He'd had a lot of questions, he says, and now feels especially as he serves his mission, "I found what I was looking for."
DeVard, too, feels the sense of belonging, the embrace.
"The Lord loves his missionaries, he loves them so much. There's no place where his spirit is stronger than when we're doing this work."
JESSICA RAVITZ can be reached at jravitz@sltrib.com or 801-257-8776. Send comments to the religion editor at religioneditor@sltrib.com.
Where are they today?
Sister DeVard completed her mission and has returned home to Southern Illinois.
Sister Santa Maria is now serving in Salt Lake City neighborhoods just north of Granite High School.
Elder Mourelatos is now serving in downtown Salt Lake City.
Elder Wood will soon be released from his mission and is serving his in Evanston, Wyo.
