Brian: To listen or Not to listen? That is the Question.

So there I was in Russia, bursting at the seems with excitement to be in the frozen north, during one of the coldest recorded winters of the last two decades. The month prior my mission president had sent me to serve in the farthest most town in the St. Petersburg Mission. Petrozovodsk or Petro, as everyone called it, had adventure in the air. Adventure was what kept me alive. It is what pulled me out of bed every morning and onto my knees. This particular day was especially exciting because I was about to receive a new companion, Elder Bradford. A companion is what LDS missionaries call the person they serve and preach the gospel with. I had planned a great day full of lots of meetings for my new and hopefully to be friend. I wanted him to have a great first day.

After picking up Elder Bradford in the morning from his long night ride on the Polar Express, we dropped off all of his stuff at the apartment. We then took off to teach families about Jesus Christ. Eventually our plans brought us to the outskirts of Petro. I need to inform you that in Russia 90% of all housing is made up of large run-down concrete boxes called domes. Somehow in this part of the city a small collection of much older and smaller traditional houses had survived. As Elder Bradford and I walked by these little farm houses on a iced over road, I had the distinct impression that we should not enter the house of our next appointment. I noted the thought and proceeded forward with courage and caution. When we got to our investigator's house we found a delightful dog locked up in a kennel. We reached our hands through the fence, pet him, and let him know we were friends. He happily and excitedly licked our hands, wagged his tail, and made us feel welcome (every good mission story involves a dog of some sort).

We stood and knocked on the door. Just when we were about to leave, the door swung wide open. Before us stood our investigator, completely intoxicated. We told him that we would come back a different day. He insisted that we come inside, but remembering my impression I resisted. He pushed the invitation again, insisting that we needed to get out of the cold. He asked for us to just come into the porch like entry way so we could talk to him some more.

I rationalized that this little entry way, between the outside door and the door to the rest of the house, wasn't a danger zone. We entered. Once inside, we talked with our investigator about the Book of Mormon. He told us that he had been reading and that he had something special to show us. He asked us to come inside further so that we could see it. At this point I thought maybe my impression from earlier was bogus and that going inside would help to further our work with this individual.

We walked through a relatively large dinning/kitchen area and into a back room with a shelf full of books. I stood close to the investigator and poor Elder Bradford stood in the doorway. As the investigator was in the middle of showing me a few of his icons, all of a sudden something grabbed my companion from behind, ripped him from the doorway, and was spinning him about in the other room. What my companion and I had failed to pay much attention to on our way in was a man passed out drunk, sitting in the corner. For some reasons something had snapped within the man and he wanted me and my companion out of the house.

Once I had realized what was happening I rushed to my companions aid and our investigator did the same. I managed somehow to free Elder Bradford form the clutches of this mad man and told Elder Bradford to run. I was hot on his tail when I felt the drunk man grab the top-back loop on my backpack. I lurched to a halt, and spun to ask him what he wanted. In a raging voice he slurred, "get out of my house". I shouted back that I would if he would let me go. Just then, a fist came flying at my head. Somehow things turned into slow motion and I did a back bend and dodged the guy's punch. I think alcohol had slowed his reflexes and motion in general so his punch was easy to anticipate. Thrown off balance by his blow, I freed myself and ran for the door. The man came stumbling after. I heard him coming and waited behind the outside door. As he came running through I slammed the door on his body hard. He fell to the cold ground and I pinned him there between the door and its frame. I yelled at my companion rushing towards the gate to hold it open for me.

Once opened, I let go of the door, freed the man and ran away. Looking back running down the ice-covered roads I saw the drunk man get up and try to sic the dog on us. I laughed thinking how friendly the dog had been to us on the way in.

Once we were a ways from the house I apologized to my companion. We both were a little shaken by the experience. I told him about the prompting and promised myself that I would do a better job of hearkening to them.

Years since I have pondered on the experience and realized that the adversary entices us slowly. Like the first drunk man, he invites us into the antechambers of his house. Then, once we feel safe, he invites us in further. He plays off our desires for success and faith in our own strength.