Click image for enlargement. Elders David Monción, left, and David Andersen are nearing the end of two years spent serving as Mormon missionaries. Photo by Ronda Churchill. Elders David Monción, left, and David Andersen are nearing the end of two years spent serving as Mormon missionaries. Photo by Ronda Churchill. Elder David Andersen discusses the Bible and the Book of Mormon with a woman who lives in an eastern Las Vegas residential hotel.

A betting man would figure David Monción and David Andersen have absolutely no prayer of success.

But Monción and Andersen -- who are by no means betting men -- aren't easily dissuaded.

The woman in the less-than-five-star hotel near Nellis Air Force Base isn't receptive. Something about a problem she has had in the past with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or a problem she has had with a church member, or something like that.

"We're sorry you feel that way," Andersen says calmly, reassuringly, sympathetically. "Let us know if there's something we can do."

"I know you're trying to help," the woman says, softening a bit.

It began as a seemingly certain door slam. But, 15 minutes later, Monci?n and Andersen are invited inside. Five minutes after that, they're arranging for a follow-up visit.

"It's all about faith," Andersen explains later. "You go on faith and have a prayer in your heart."

"And," he says, smiling, "as we saw, miracles happen, right?"

Elders Monción, 21, and Andersen, 20, are two of more than 200 Mormon missionaries who work throughout Southern Nevada. Every day, they hit the valley's streets to knock on strangers' doors, meet residents in their homes, talk with people sitting at bus stops and do whatever else it takes to share their faith.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints encourages men and women ages 19 to 26 to spend between 18 months to two years serving as missionaries. According to the church, about 60,000 missionaries are serving in nearly 350 missions around the world.

About 75 percent of those missionaries are, like Elders Monción and Andersen, men between the ages of 19 and 26, the church says. The rest are single women and married couples.

Andersen, who was raised in the church in central Washington state, has wanted to be a missionary since he was 3 years old.

"I'd always see my cousins going on missions," he says. "They'd be, like, young kids, all wild and crazy, and, coming back, all big and hairy. And, I wanted to be like them.

"From that point on, I wanted to be a missionary no matter what. And my goal was to be one of those guys with the black (name) tags."

Monción, in contrast, was raised Catholic in The Bronx, N.Y. He became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 14 when his mother converted.

But, Monción admits, "I wasn't the best example of the church when I was back home."

"Growing up, I never said I wanted to go on a mission," he says.

Then, when he turned 18, Monción's mother asked about his plans.

"I thought about it and prayed about it," he says. And, after consulting with his bishop, Monción decided to become a missionary.

Now, both Monción and Andersen are nearing the end of their two-year-long missions. Monción, who has been a missionary for 19 months, has served in Overton, central Las Vegas, Henderson and, for the past three months, eastern Las Vegas.

Andersen served in Venezuela for about 19 months. A few weeks ago, he was reassigned to Las Vegas after the church pulled American missionaries out of Venezuela.

"It's definitely a culture shock coming back here," Andersen says.

An outsider might wonder. Here, Monción and Andersen live in a simple, sparsely decorated -- some would say Spartan -- apartment near Nellis Air Force Base.

They have no TV and no computer. They have no cell phones and no stereo, although they can listen to church music and sermons on a portable disc player and they share a single phone in their apartment.

It's the sort of living space, devoid of any possible distraction, designed for two men who spend most of their waking hours spreading what they believe to be the word of God.

A typical day begins at about 6:30 a.m., when the elders wake up, exercise -- the set of dumbbells next to a chair is about the only furnishing their apartment would share with those of most other guys in their early 20s -- shower and shave.

From 8 to 9 a.m., it's personal study time. From 9 to 10, they study together.

By 10 a.m., they'll head out to begin their day of knocking on doors, making follow-up visits to people who have expressed an interest in the message they bring, calling on church members who have become inactive and on nonchurch members who have been referred to them.

As zone leaders, Monción and Andersen also supervise about 20 other missionaries. That means they have a church-owned car, a step up from the bicycles many people think of when they think of Mormon missionaries' mode of transport.

There will be a quick return to the apartment for lunch, and supper at the home of a ward member. Their day is pretty much a nonstop round of visits, teaching and, if all goes well, baptizing new members into the church.

About 9:30 p.m. -- slightly later if a teaching session runs late -- they'll return to the apartment and plan their next day before turning in.

They do it six days a week. On Thursday, their weekly free day, they'll do laundry, write weekly letters to family members -- they're pemitted to call home only twice a year, on Christmas and Mother's Day -- take care of other chores and maybe fit in a game of basketball with other missionaries. Then, Thursday evening, it's back to work.

Missionaries aren't paid for their work. In fact, missionaries and their families are expected to donate money to the church to cover their personal expenses.

The elders know much about their faith, and can talk about its tenets eagerly and at length. But, as they make their rounds, "we don't really have a set thing," Andersen says. "We just go out and teach by faith."

Usually, they'll begin by asking someone to read a passage from the Book of Mormon and to pray on it, Andersen says. They'll answer questions. Then they'll make it a point to return the following day to talk further,

The elders can baptize nonmembers into the church. Some, Monción says, will be ready to join the church after only a visit or two. Others, Andersen says, may continue investigating the faith for years before making a commitment.

Of course, rejection, in all of its forms, is a daily given. Doors are slammed. Angry words are proffered. Appointments are blown off.

In Venezuela, Andersen was shot at with a rifle. "We ran," he says, more nonchalantly than you'd expect. "It was my first week there."

Monción has had firecrackers thrown at him, and he has been shot at repeatedly with an air rifle.

Andersen says he considers such attacks "a testimony builder" that make him stronger in his faith.

Besides, he adds, "if we die here, I wouldn't mind dying for the Lord. There's nothing better than that."

At the other end of the spectrum, Monción says that, when someone does accept the message they bring, "it's fantastic."

As a missionary, Andersen explains. "every person you talk to, you have to have it in your heart this person is going to be baptized."

Today, the elders have a pretty good day. The woman who seemed like a nonstarter has agreed to meet with them again. A follow-up visit that they'd figured to last about 20 minutes turns into a 90-minute visit because the woman had so many questions. The day's only strikeout is a follow-up visit for which a woman bailed.

In a few months, Monción and Andersen will return home to a world that has gone on for two years without them. They both say they're simply too busy to be homesick or to miss their families very much. And while both say they couldn't think of a better way to spend two years out of their youth, they know that returning to their families will make for an odd transition.

"It's strange when you see someone you don't see every day," Andersen says, smiling. "You're so used to your companion -- it's companion, companion, companion, 24 hours a day. But when you hear the voices of people you used to know -- your actual family -- it's like, 'Who are these people?' "