Recently, I met Kemal, an American university student who was visiting the homeland of his Turkish parents. He kept telling me with enthusiasm, “We have to go together to my uncle’s new house. You and he live so close to one another! I have studied it all out on Google Earth.”

I invited Kemal to our house for lentil soup. At lunch, we figured out that he was two inches off in his calculation. Two inches isn’t much unless you are looking at a satellite map of the entire world! Not wanting to disappoint the young man, I told him, “Hop in my car,” and we drove the 150 kilometers to his uncle’s house.

On the way, we talked a lot. He said, “Though I am a Muslim, there are a lot of things I don’t agree with. Eternal torment, for example.” I told him I didn’t believe in that, either. This paved the way for us to talk more about God, the prophets and Turkish life in general. I shared a few experiences. He was fascinated by my experiences with rural Turkish life—something he had never seen.

I told him about how an entire village had gathered to pray for rain. I had gotten up very early in the morning on that day and went out into the forest with some of the village men. First, they said a prayer over the 500-year-old grave of a spiritual leader. Then we moved some rocks and cleared the forest floor to make about fifteen places for fires and big kettles to hang over them. I helped carry 10 tied-up goats from the back of a pickup truck and then watched as they were killed and skinned. (Did you know you can blow a goat up like a balloon to make skinning it easier?)

I remarked to Kemal, “I think there would be a lot more vegetarians if everyone had to kill their own animals.” Because of his Islamic background, I talked a bit about not eating pork. He showed high interest, so I continued on the meat theme. I talked about hormones in the meat, adrenaline in the blood of the animals and diseases related to meat-eating.

“That settles it,” Kemal announced. “I will be a vegetarian for the rest of my life.” He turned to me. “I am not one to make decisions lightly. I am convinced. I should do this, and I will.”

I was amazed and happy he had taken my words so seriously. I prayed it meant he also was considering seriously the things I had said about Jesus and the Bible.

Twenty minutes later, we saw a man walking on a deserted stretch of highway. We picked him up and took him to his little concrete house out in the middle of a stony wasteland. His name was Sinan, and he was a chicken farmer. He invited us to come in and drink tea with him and his wife. The house was basically bare with two broken-down sofa beds and a television and cracks between the roof and walls. Sinan and his wife were thoroughly excited we had come, and they brought out a worn three-by-five photo of their wedding day 25 years before for us to admire. Next, Sinan proudly took us into his barn to have the pleasure of standing in his sea of 40,000 chickens!

Then Sinan hit upon an idea. Eyes twinkling, he said, “Let’s take two of these chickens, pluck off their heads, pull out their intestines, strip their feathers and roast them. We will have a little feast together! What do you say?”

Thinking of Kemal’s decision just 20 minutes before, Kemal and I looked at each other and laughed and laughed as Sinan repeated his offer of hospitality with exaggerated hand gestures, ringing the invisible chicken neck and plucking the invisible feathers again and again.

Sinan and his wife made us promise to come back. They called my cell phone twice that evening to repeat the invitation and remind me that they had 40,000 chickens waiting for us whenever we want a barbecue!

Oh, and yes, we finally found Kemal’s uncle’s house. It was just a few inches to the left of where it was supposed to be.

• Twitter