They Don’t Care How Much We Know Till They Know How Much We Care

Recently, our good friend, Bill, told us about a conversation he’d had with a server at a restaurant with whom he’d developed a friendship.  Upon discovering that Bill was a Christian, the server told him, “All of us waiters draw straws on Fridays to see which one of us ends up working on Sundays when, after church, many Christians come here to eat. We hate waiting on them. They have the worst attitudes and are lousy tippers.”

Both my children worked as servers in various restaurants while going to college. In fact, my daughter still works two days a week at a high-end Japanese restaurant while going to graduate school. So, when I relayed the above story to her, she laughed and told me the following story which had happened to one of her friends at the restaurant:

After waiting on a grouchy and complaining church-going couple on a Sunday, instead of a tip, my daughter’s friend was left a Christian tract entitled, “Why the love of money is evil”. I guess this enlightened couple had no idea that anyone loving money wouldn’t necessarily become a waiter since servers usually work for minimum wage and the tips they receive are their main source of income. 

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It’s Mother day 2010. After speaking at the Philadelphia Church in Seattle, some of the church leaders take me to a picturesque water front restaurant. Our server is a young beautiful Asian lady. She reminds me of Megan, my daughter.

As soon as she leaves to get our drink orders, I ask the table, “OK, what do think her nationality is?”

That’s one of my hobbies. I take pride in the fact that I can often tell what foreign language people are speaking or what their nationality is.

But, not today.

We go around the table and each makes a guess, so by the time our server comes back, we’re ready for her. I’m quite wrong. It’s Grethe who’s gotten it right. The lady’s Filipino. We all laugh and have a lot of fun with it.

A while later, on her third trip to our table, Allan, one of the guys in our group, asks her the following, strange question, “Do you have a recurring dream?”

“Yes, I did when I was a little girl,” says the server.

“What was it?”

“I used to dream I’m in this dry and lonely place where everything around me is brown and dying.  I’d be walking by myself when all of the sadden a Transformer appeared in front of me. I would get so scared that I would wake myself up.”

And then she leaves to attend to other patrons.

“Why did you ask the question,” looking at Allen, I ask. Of course, I have a feeling why he did it, but I have to be sure.

“I don’t know! Every time she walked up I was impressed to ask her the question. Now, let’s interpret her dream. Any ideas anyone?”

Everyone has something to contribute.

Allen suggests what colors mean in dreams. Ed talks about her lonely feelings, and Grethe and Christa remind us of her fear. This isn’t my first time facing such an unusual encounter, but I’m still quite intrigued.

I don’t have a gift of dream interpretation, but after years of practicing Lectio Devina or “Meditative Prayer”, I’ve learned that if I bring my thoughts into submission to God and focus on him, I’m often directed as how to pray.  My focus is on the Transformer.

“A Transformer is a shape-shifter. It can reveal itself as one thing, when, in fact, it is something else. To me it symbolizes a lack of or a broken trust,” I commented.

We can’t wait for her to come back. By this point we’ve treated her with so much respect and light-hearted conversation that she’s willing to hear what we have to offer. No sooner she gets back to us, she asks, “So, did you figure out my dream?”

Allen looks at me and says, “Go ahead, you tell her.”

I tell her our conclusion: “There’s a deep lack of trust in your life due to something that happened to you when you were little. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was your parents’ divorce. Since then, you’ve been having a hard time taking things at face-value, fearing, no matter what it is, it might shift its shape.”

By now our lovely server is in tears.

“Yes, my parents are divorced,” she says while sniffling and wiping tears off her face.

“Now, for the good news,” I continue.

“Today, God brought us here to let you know that even though people, even your parents, can and will fail you, He never will. He wants you to trust Him.”

While crying harder, she manages to say, “My mother’s at church right now. She’s been asking me to go with her. I think I’m going to start doing that.”

We make sure to leave her a great tip.

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A majority of people we interact with in our daily lives don’t care for our Message because they don’t know if we care for them.  It’s a foolish and dilapidated thought process that assumes that somehow giving a tract to someone as a means of witnessing exonerates all your other actions. After all, let’s not forget:

You are a letter from Christ...written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the Living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of human hearts..."                      II Corinthians 3:3

A Pacifist, At Whose Cost?

Yesterday, my son, Todd, an officer in the United States Air Force posted the following on his Facebook wall: “Todd Afshar only regrets that he has but one life to lose for his country,” which was promptly commented on by a friend saying, “Cats have more lives to give. Learn jazz.”

Todd’s comment and the letter he had sent to his American grandparents (Todd’s grandfather served in the armed forces during WWII) reminded me of a conversation I once had with a Christian pacifist.

The pacifist’s brother had posted an anti-war article on his blog. His post was filled with a bunch of bumper sticker slogans such as, “War is not the answer!” “War, what is it good for?” mixed with Christ’s admonition of, “turning the other cheek ” and “loving your enemies.” I had no problem with much of what the man had to say, but what really got me was the title of the blog: “Which War Has Ever Helped Anyone?”

I respect pacifists, but I have a great problem with naïve Christians who get their biblical macros and micros mixed up.

In response to the brother’s question, I left a comment on his blog saying, “I don’t know! Maybe you should ask your question to the Jews who were freed from Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Dachau and other Nazi concentration camps at the hands of those valiant American soldiers who shed their blood willingly to free the world from the tyranny of an evil man named Hitler.”

The writer quickly replied to me by quoting Christ’s admonition and that somehow we could have reconciled with Hitler, Mussolini and the Japanese Empire if the US had not overreacted toward those animals.

This is what I replied:

So, according to your understanding of what Jesus said, after bombing Pearl Harbor and killing several thousand American soldiers, we should have told the Japanese, ‘In response to Christ’s mandate, we are not only going to ignore what you have done, but we also offer you San Francisco to bomb.’

I think, just like so many other Christians, the above writer couldn’t separate Christ’s micro principles from his macro principles. To make my point even more clear to the author, I went on to challenge him with the following question:

Suppose a man breaks into your house and rapes your wife. In keeping with Christ’s mandate and wanting to turn the other cheek, would you offer the rapist your daughter also?

Unfortunately, our friend was quite upset at my question and assumed that I was calling him an unfit father, which, by no means was my intention. I was only trying to show the brother how faulty his reasoning was. If you can’t apply Christ’s mandates to an everyday personal situation (a micro principle) — which, I believe, was Christ’s true intention in the previously mentioned mandates — how naïve are you to think it could be applied to all international dealings of various nations particularly in defending the innocent against blood-sucking parasites who are a billion times worse than the imaginary rapist?

As I said, I have no problem with pacifists, but please remember that your act of pacifism comes with a price — the blood of our military men and women. The same price people like my son are willing to pay at any moment they are called upon so you can continue to exercise the luxury of being a pacifist in the comfort and security of your country.

One final warning to my pacifist friends: If and when the Muslims take over a Western nation, among the first people they’ll execute will be the pacifists. If you weren’t willing to fight for your own faith and country, you will certainly not fight for theirs. So, really, you’re nothing by a liability to them.

IT’S ALL ABOUT HONOR!

I’ve inherited my dad’s looks and many of his characteristics. Just like him, I’m very easygoing until I’m cornered or dishonored.

The year was 1963. I was still living in Abadan, Iran, when a new family moved into a house across the street from us. All the neighborhood kids knew the man of the house was nothing but trouble because he was just plain mean.

For example, while playing soccer, if our ball accidentally went over the fence, and landed in his yard, he didn’t give it back to us. He’d cuss us out —something completely unheard of in our community—for having a good time, and laughing out loud, but we couldn’t do anything about it. Within that society, kids didn’t question an elder. This went on until the man had to face my easygoing dad.

Mr. Golcheen, our new neighbor, had a dog that was just as mean as her master. One day the dog got out of the gated front yard and bit one of my brothers. After he came home crying, my mom approached Mr. Golcheen and very politely said, “Sir, you shouldn’t let your dog get out of your front yard.” To which, he very sarcastically replied, “Madam, you shouldn’t let your boy get out of your front yard.”

The poor soul wasn’t aware that my dad, who’d just gotten home from work, was standing across the street listening to the whole conversation. Having his wife insulted, and demanding his honor restored, my dad charged the man. That was the only time I remember my dad that angry. Fortunately for the man, other neighbors stopped my dad and allowed Mr. Golcheen to cowardly duck into his house. A few weeks later he moved out of the neighborhood.
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The year’s 2002. This is my daughter’s senior year at Birmingham High, and her best friend has talked her into working with her at this dive of a pizzeria in a shady part of the city we live in. I’m not very happy with my daughter working in such a place, but Megan’s excitement overrides her dad’s disagreement. After all, like my dad, I’m also an easygoing father, whom, as much as possible, never says, “No.”

After working there for a few months, one night Megan comes home crying. The owner of the place, who has a very foul mouth, had cussed her out in front of customers, and she doesn’t want to work there any more. Many Americans may be quite delighted to hear their daughter isn’t going to be working for a place they disapproved to begin with, but not with me. I was raised in a shame-based culture and taught to defend my family’s honor, which is very important to me.

I call my good friend, Dennis. He’s of Swedish decent, and is built like an eighteen-wheeler, burly and strong. I tell him what I’m about to do and ask him to go with me. He readily accepts my request. No sooner than I call, and tell him my game plan, he’s at my front door. We get in his truck, and head for the pizzeria.

I’ve met the restaurant owner before. He’s a scrawny-looking guy who was born in Lebanon but raised in America. As soon as I enter the place, he recognizes me and has a feeling of why I’m here. I ask him to meet us outside. We go out and I sit at a table with my back against the wall across from him. Dennis stands right behind him, just as we’ve planned.

“Are you going to beat me up?” he asks nervously, hoping I get his joke.

“Of course not!” I reply. I’ve no intention of beating anyone up. I just want to teach this spoiled brat a lesson and restore my daughter’s honor.

“You know what “Aaibe” is, correct?” I use the word for shame in Arabic.

“Yes!”

“You know how important our honor is in that part of the world. You’ve brought ‘Aaibe’ on my family by dishonoring my daughter, and that needs to be rectified.”

“You’re correct, sir. I’m sorry for using bad language around your daughter.”

“You should never use bad language around my daughter period, but even more important, you will never direct it at her.”

“I’m very sorry. Please tell her if she comes back, I’ll never do it again.”

“That’s never going to happen. She’s not coming back to this place, EVER,” I smirk.

My family honor is restored, and I’m satisfied. But, even more important, Megan knows that her dad stood up for her, and that she can always depend on me to be her covering and protection.

As we’re walking away, I thank Dennis for going with me and he says,
“Thank you for bringing me along. I learned how my daughter should be treated.”

A few weeks later, I hear that our Lebanese friend is fined heavily for allowing an underage employee to sell liquor to an undercover police officer.
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Recently, after posting my last 3-4 blogs, I got two interesting, yet opposite comments.

An anonymous follower gave me a great compliment, albeit, a left-handed one, saying:

“so ive read all of your blogs, never commented, a lot of the times because i felt you were just whiny. i really like the quality of your last 3 or 4 posts, and just thought i should give you a little bit of encouragement. keep going sir.”

The second comment from a friend said, “What happened? You’ve lost your fire.”

My friends were both right and wrong. I haven’t lost my fire, and, no, I wasn’t whiny. Originally, I started blogging after being unjustly fired from my job, which deeply dishonored me. I was cornered and shamed. My blogs were my way of trying to restore my honor. However, once the new leadership in charge of the old missions organization took me to lunch to apologize in person for what the old regime had done to me, I felt no reason to continue writing about the same issues. My honor was restored, and just like my dad, once again, I’m easygoing.

The above stick drawing and the note is from Megan. She sent it to me just the other day after I got her car fixed. By the way, she’s 24.

Robin Hood Was A Thief

I used to steal.

Years ago, when I worked for a clothing store, one of my coworkers convinced me that stealing from the company was my right. Here’s how he justified the act:

“You see, Shah. What we do is not stealing because, first, this company marks up the resale values of all the clothing by 100% and makes a lot of money. So, stealing a few items here and there will not hurt them at all. Second, these people expect us to steal because they only pay us minimum wage. “

Does the above logic justify stealing?

It sure satisfied me. I became an expert in ripping off the store. I went to work wearing my old clothes, chose whatever I wanted off the rack, and in opportune time walked into the dressing room, and changed to my new outfit. At the end of my shift, I walked out of the store wearing brand new shirts, pants and coats without having to spend a penny.

I was convinced I was entitled to the merchandise. It was my right to have the new clothing, however, at the same time, I had no obligation to the company that had employed me.

I felt like Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor – ME.

In those days, the majority of my coworkers did not share my entitlement attitude. But, these days things are quite different.

Today, the Josephson Institute of Ethics released the findings of the first-ever large-scale study of the relationship between high school attitudes and behavior, and later adult conduct.

“The report showed that during 2008, 64% cheated on an exam, 42% lied to save money, and 30% stole something from a store. This new study reveals a close connection between youthful attitudes and behavior and continuing patterns of dishonesty as young people enter the adult world. The survey found that current age and attitudes about the need to cheat and actual high school cheating are significant predictors of lying and cheating across a wide range of adult situations.”

Why the change?

First, let me tell you what changed me and then offer you my opinion for the above question.
As soon as I became a follower of Christ, an inner-voice convicted me of my flawed logic. Nobody lectured me on it. I didn’t hear a “fire and brimstone” message on what happens to thieves. I simply knew I was guilty of stealing. So, I quit. I stopped cheating, lying and stealing to bring honor to my Lord.

What does my conversion have to do with 30% of high school students stealing from stores? If you look at the Ten Commandments, much of it has to do with the wellbeing of the community. I believe the farther our nation gets from God, the more entitlement-minded we become. The more one feels he deserves to have something he hasn’t earned, the more cheating, lying and stealing will take place – acts that eventually will pull communities apart from one another.