Two Can Play at this Game

We learned several months ago, after a series of random phone calls, that our home telephone number used to belong to an internet cafe. Based on my extensive time spent in internet cafes around the world I can safely say that usually they are filled with backpackers or boys/men that spend waaaaaaaaaaay too many hours playing computer games (the latter being the group to call my house).

  Now, when I say basic Turkish greetings/responses I can usually pass for a Turk. The minute it goes beyond that, however, my dreadful Farmington accent, that I can never get rid of, serves as a dead giveaway that I am not native. One such caller picked up on that and became curious. I don't know his name, nor do I care to know, but for storytelling purposes let's call him Abdullah.

 Abdullah, who sounds to be a twenty-something-year old, started asking me questions: "Where are you from?" "Are you Russian?" "Will you talk with me?" I read into his questions, as it's common knowledge there are plenty of ladies here from the former Soviet Union area that have...ahem...not-so-upstanding occupations. After I made it clear that I was married and I had no interest in talking with him, I hung up. The phone rang a couple more times that morning but I did not answer.

Abdullah called four more mornings after that. The caller i.d. on our telephone was broken so I reluctantly answered wondering if it was Eli's school, or the bank, or some other service calling. Nope, just good old Abdullah. I put Zach on the task of stopping his annoying phone calls. Zach called the phone company only to be told that they could not turn over his number unless a formal complaint was made to the police station or our embassy. Oh fiddlesticks, there went that plan, as dealing with the police or the embassy is often more of a headache than it's worth.

So, I did what any reasonable married woman would do.

I read him the Bible. 

Yep. I figured he'd either get annoyed and stop calling me, or he'd listen and learn about a loving God who wants to be in relationship with him. To me, it seemed like a win-win.

The next time Abdullah called, I had my Turkish Bible all set to read from the book of John. I didn't say anything else. I just read. I didn't let him talk. I just read. If he was going to continuously call me without my permission, then I was going to tell him what I believe without his permission.

After five identical calls of me reading and him trying to get me to stop, he laughed, and gave up. His phone calls stopped for several weeks. 

Until today.

           I guess he wants more Jesus.