Names have been changed to preserve anonymity.

I initially thought Ivan was the most irritating person I'd ever met. At a summer school gathering for computer scientists, sitting on the lawn, he barraged me with gossip and interrogated me about my career. As someone wanting intentional conversations about Jesus, this felt like the opposite. While others tossed peanuts and laughed, I felt stuck, unable to connect because Ivan was a relentless question machine.

I tried escaping into other conversations, but he always managed to find his way back to me. So when our group took a wrong turn on the way to dinner - after we’d already been walking together for about 20 minutes - I saw my chance. I waved goodbye, using the detour as my excuse for a peaceful solo walk back to the hotel.

But I was wrong. Ivan decided to follow me.

There I was, stuck on what felt like the longest walk ever with the very person I was trying to avoid. ‘God, why?’ I sighed internally. Then again, ‘God... why?’ And finally, clarity: ‘Okay, God... I think I get it.’ 

Finding the right person

This had to be God’s plan. I'd been praying for chances to share my hope with fellow students. Maybe this was it, disguised as an annoying companion. I resolved to engage fully, answering Ivan with complete dedication. 

He asked how I managed a master's degree while married and ‘older’. My honest answer – ‘By God's grace, my wife's sacrifices, and a lot of anxiety!’ – led me to add that life is more than education. The mention of my wife's sacrifice snagged his attention. 

‘How do you find the right person?’ he asked. This opened the door to talk about love grounded in the Bible – specifically Agápē, the sacrificial love of Jesus. This concept struck a chord. Suddenly, Ivan began sharing about life beyond his CV: his relationships, family pressures and deep-seated insecurities. 

I realised he wasn't irritating; he was just a young man desperately searching for direction, performing to meet the demands of his wealthy, influential family. Little did he know that he was really looking for guidance beyond achievements, for a value not tied to his intellect or status. Degrees were just his mask, hiding his fear of imperfection and his search for meaning and love. Despite all his advantages, he felt empty, terrified of not measuring up. 

Choosing what to save

Now, I was ready – ready to share the good news of Jesus. But then, fear crept in. What if Ivan twists my words tomorrow? What if he mocks my faith to my supervisor or future colleagues? The academic world can be harsh towards belief. Could sharing my faith jeopardise my PhD prospects, or ruin my reputation before I’d had the chance to form one? 

Taking a deep breath, I prayed silently, ‘God, if this is what it takes for you to save him, let my reputation die tonight.’ Courage followed. Gently, I told him he had everything the world desires – wealth, intelligence, opportunity – yet lacked the one thing that truly mattered: God. I shared verses like Matthew 19:21 about wealth and following Jesus. 

His questions shifted instantly: Jesus, heaven, sin, resurrection evidence, faith, suffering, truth in other religions… I shared Bible stories, prophecies, my own testimony – everything I could offer. We stood talking outside my hotel for over two hours. He opened up even more about his family, his imposter syndrome palpable. He admitted, despite an Orthodox background, he'd never truly considered God. The Holy Spirit spurred me on; I walked him partway back and prayed for him and his family. 

He hugged me. ‘This was one of the best days of my life,’ he said.

Looking in the mirror

The next morning, a warm ‘Dobroye utro’ (‘Good morning’ in Russian) greeted me. We swapped contacts; I even sent some Bible verses in Russian. My initial judgment couldn't have been more wrong. Ivan was a great guy, just lost under immense pressure, needing the hope I possessed. His struggles mirrored my own, but I had Jesus, an eternal source of living water; Ivan sought water from broken cisterns: 

‘My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.’ (Jeremiah 2:13) 

This encounter held up a mirror. Hadn't I also been focused on performance – even my ‘intentionality’ – rather than simply walking with God? My desire to execute a plan almost made me miss the person God placed right in front of me. Ivan needed hope and relationships that would point him to Jesus, not my perfectly crafted ministry strategy. 

Our drive for excellence and meaning can blind us to the core of Christianity: agápē love (John 13:34-35). Are we willing to risk reputation, comfort, and acceptance to show that sacrificial love? No amount of knowledge or strategy connects people to Jesus like agápē does.

Glimpsing grace

Jesus tells his followers that to become his disciples, they must deny themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow him (Luke 9:23-24). Dying to ourselves doesn't always mean martyrdom; it can happen in quieter ways: letting go of our strategies, our need to be seen, our reputations – those things we cling to because they make us feel ‘alive’ or in control. Whatever form it takes, the invitation is the same: to lay ourselves down, to empty ourselves, so that Christ’s life can be revealed more fully through us (2 Corinthians 4:10–11, 1 John 3:16).

Ivan and I might not meet again this side of eternity, but gospel seeds were planted, and that walk changed us both. That night I nearly missed the chance to see fruit and share the hope I carry by trying too hard to preserve myself and my own plans. Thank God, he helped me let go of my pride and see his grace at work, turning an unwanted detour into a glimpse of grace for both Ivan and me. 

‘I tell you the truth: Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a single seed; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.’ (John 12:24)