It was Monday afternoon at 2:30 when I met a friend in the Hofgarten, the court garden of Innsbruck. She’s 31 and came to faith about a year and a half ago. At first, we met regularly to talk about the Bible and her questions about faith. Over time, we became friends. Now, when we meet, we catch up on life first—and deeper conversations naturally follow. With spring arriving, we’d taken to meeting outside in this beautiful garden.

We laid out a picnic blanket, brought some drinks and snacks—grapes, cocktail nuts, and slices of Groninger koek (a traditional spiced Dutch cake)—and settled into a sunny spot on the grass. “How was your month in the Netherlands?” she asked me. “And what’s new with you?” I asked in return. An hour passed easily in this way. Then she asked, “Wasn’t there a king who knew which woman was the mother of the baby?” That brought us to 1 Kings 3, the story where God tells Solomon he can ask for anything he wants.

As we read, I noticed a young man nearby watching us from a short distance. I confess, I felt a bit annoyed—distractions always seem to come when God's Word is opened. Still, I tried to stay focused on my friend, who was struck by Solomon’s humility. Instead of asking for something selfish, Solomon first praises God, then asks for wisdom to lead the people. God is pleased and promises to give him everything else as well. We recognised the connection with another verse we’d recently discussed: seek first God’s kingdom, and everything else will be added to you.

While we were talking, we hadn’t noticed the young man had come closer—he was now standing at the edge of our blanket. “What are you reading?” he asked. We glanced at each other. “The Bible,” we replied. He sat down cross-legged, leaning in. “Really? Is that the source of your joy?” We nodded. “Yes.” My friend added how much joy and fulfilment she had found since meeting Jesus and leaving her old life behind.

He pointed at the grapes. “May I have one?” We laughed. “Of course! And help yourself to more. Come sit with us.” He didn’t sit just yet, but told us he no longer had anything to do with the church. He’d been raised in it, but was now more into spirituality. My friend asked directly, “Does that make you happy?” He hesitated. “Sometimes,” he replied. Later, she said she sensed the question had unsettled him.

We talked for a while—about the spiritual world, about how God is the greatest, the Creator who made him and loves him. “Really?” he asked. It seemed to move him. We spoke about spiritual leaders like Buddha, and I explained that Jesus is different—He is the Son of God, risen from the dead. “That can’t be said of anyone else,” I said. “So shouldn’t we take His words seriously?” That seemed to catch his attention—he hadn’t thought of it that way before.

We moved on to talking about wisdom and truth. “Then you should read the book of Proverbs,” said my friend. “The king we just read about wrote an entire book full of life lessons.” She flipped through Proverbs, reading verses aloud here and there. Later, she said she’d been searching for one in particular but couldn’t find it. I had the sense I needed to “rescue” her and admitted, “I often find Proverbs a bit tricky.” She immediately passed me the Bible: “Then what should we read?”

I smiled and encouraged her—it wouldn’t surprise me if one of those verses had touched him deeply. He was so open, so hungry for what we had to share. Then he reached for the cocktail nuts. “May I have one of those too?” “Yes, come sit with us,” we said again. “You know,” I added, “there’s a story in the Bible about someone asking that same question: ‘What are you reading?’” As he finally sat down and helped himself to a snack, I turned to Acts 8 and read aloud the story of Philip and the Ethiopian official.

Oh, how I wished I had a children’s Bible with pictures—so I could point and say, “Look, there goes Philip,” and “See the chariot in the distance?” He sat there, leaning forward, deeply interested. I listened to the words myself as I read. What a powerful story: Philip spent his life telling people the good news of Jesus. It was so important to him that he spoke to this one man personally—and the Ethiopian went on his way full of joy, the same joy we had there on our picnic blanket. And that final verse: Philip continued on to other cities, proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus. So special.

We asked the young man, “Do you have a Bible yourself?” “Yes,” he said. “Some Christians gave me one in Vienna once.” We encouraged him to start reading it again—because that’s how you get to know God! He stood up, clearly encouraged and motivated. We stood too and held out our hands to say goodbye. But instead, he asked for a hug. And of course, we gladly gave him one.

We didn’t want him to go, really. But he did. He shared his name so we could pray for him. And if God wills, we’ll meet him again someday.