“The first time I entered that Catholic church in Assisi, I was wearing my white kufi and gray thobe, because it was Friday and I had done my Jumu’ah prayers that morning at the mosque in Rome. And I only entered because my Italian wife insisted for three days, telling me, ‘Rashid, please, just come with me to see this, just once, it’s important to me.’

“And I finally agreed, even though I felt I was betraying my faith, even though I knew my father in Egypt would be disappointed if he knew his son was entering a Christian place of worship, even though my whole life I had been taught that Christians were *mushrikūn*, polytheists, who worshiped three gods instead of Allah, the One.

“But I entered anyway, out of love for my wife. I entered with the intention of staying only 5 minutes to make her happy, then leave. I entered thinking this would mean nothing to me, that I would see some statues, some candles, and leave untouched.

“But what happened in the next 45 minutes inside that sanctuary, what I saw when I knelt before that glass urn where the body of a teenager who died 19 years ago rests, what I felt when I touched that glass and an invisible force shot through my chest and healed something in me that had been broken for 15 years… it completely changed my life. It changed my faith. It changed my identity. It changed everything I thought I knew about God, and truth, and salvation.

“And what I’m going to tell now will sound like betrayal to my Muslim brothers. It will sound like apostasy. It will sound like a story invented by Christian missionaries trying to convert Muslims. But I swear by the God I now know, the same God of Abraham, Moses, and Jesus. I swear by everything sacred that every word is true. It is exactly what happened to me.

“And if you’re listening to this now, especially if you’re Muslim, especially if you feel something is missing in your spiritual life, especially if you have truly been seeking God and not just following rituals, you need to hear this story to the end. Because maybe, just maybe, God is calling you too.

“My name is Rashid Almansur. I am 34 years old. I was born in Cairo, Egypt, into a very religious Sunni Muslim family. My father is an imam at a small mosque in a popular neighborhood. My mother has worn a full niqab for as long as I can remember. I grew up memorizing the Qur’an, performing salat five times a day, fasting Ramadan since I was 10 years old—everything expected of a good Muslim.

“My father taught me that Islam is the only true religion, that Muhammad, peace be upon him, is the last prophet. That the Qur’an is the final word of Allah, unchanged, without errors. He taught me to respect the *Ahl al-Kitab*, the People of the Book—Christians and Jews. But he also taught me that they are mistaken, that Christians perverted the message of Isa (Jesus) by inventing that he was the son of God when he was just a prophet, that the Trinity is *shirk*—associating partners with Allah—the unforgivable sin.

“I grew up believing this absolutely, without doubt. It was part of my identity. I am Rashid, I am Muslim. These two things were inseparable.

“I studied engineering at the University of Cairo. I graduated in 2013. I got a job at a telecommunications company, a good job, good salary. In 2015, the company sent me to Italy, to Rome, for a 3-month project installing fiber optic networks. That was my first trip outside Egypt.

“I arrived in Rome in September 2015. The city amazed me, so different from Cairo, ancient buildings everywhere, huge churches on every corner, tourists from all over the world. And that’s when I met Julia.

“She worked as a translator for our company. Italian, 28 years old, black hair, green eyes, a smile that lit up the room. Professional, intelligent, kind. We started working together. She helped me communicate with local contractors. We spent hours together every day. And slowly, without planning it, without wanting to, I fell in love with her.

“This was a huge problem. A Muslim should not marry a non-Muslim unless she converts. And I knew that asking her to convert to Islam would be unfair. So I tried to ignore my feelings. I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn’t. She felt something too. I could see it in how she looked at me, how she found excuses to be near me.

“One day in October 2015, after a work meeting, she invited me for coffee. I accepted, even though I knew it was dangerous. We sat in a small café near the Colosseum. We talked for 3 hours, not about work, but about life, family, dreams, beliefs.

“She asked me about Islam. I explained as best I could. The five pillars, the importance of the mission, the beauty of the Qur’an. She listened with genuine respect, not like some Europeans who sometimes look at you with suspicion when you say you’re Muslim. She really wanted to understand.

“Then she asked me, ‘Rashid, what do you think about Jesus?’

“Isa is a prophet,’ I replied. ‘One of the greatest prophets, born of the Virgin Maryam, performed miracles with Allah’s permission, but he is not the son of God. God does not have sons. God is One, *Ahad*, without partner, without equal.’

“She nodded. ‘I understand what you believe. But may I tell you what I believe?’

“‘Of course.’

“‘I believe that Jesus is God made man, that he came to save us from our sins, that he died on the cross and rose on the third day. I know it sounds crazy, I know your faith says differently, but for me it is the deepest truth of my life.’

“We talked for another hour respectfully, without trying to convince each other, just sharing. And that night, when I returned to my apartment, I prayed. ‘Allah. This woman has entered my heart, but she is a Christian. I don’t know what to do. Give me a sign. Guide me.’

“The following months were difficult. My 3-month project was extended to 6 months. Then to a year. The company was happy with my work. They wanted me to stay, and I wanted to stay because Julia was there.

“Our relationship deepened. We started officially dating, even though I knew my parents would never approve. I called my mother every week. She asked when I would return to Egypt, when I would marry a good Muslim girl she would introduce me to. I evaded the questions, lied saying I was very busy with work. I felt guilty. Divided.

“In 2017, after 2 years of relationship, Julia and I decided to get married. It was a difficult decision. I knew it meant breaking with my family. She knew it meant a complicated life, being the wife of a Muslim in Italy, where Islamophobia exists. But we loved each other.

“We married in a civil ceremony in Rome. Small, just a few friends. No family, no church, no mosque—neutral. I called my parents afterwards to tell them. My father didn’t speak to me for 6 months. My mother cried. She told me she was disappointed, that I had betrayed my faith by marrying a *kafira*, an unbeliever. Those words hurt me deeply, but I loved Julia. I didn’t regret it. I thought with time my family would accept.

“Julia completely respected my faith. She never asked me to leave Islam. She never pressured me to go to church with her. When I performed my five daily prayers in our apartment, she gave me privacy. When I fasted Ramadan, she fasted with me in solidarity, even though it wasn’t an obligation for her. She was an incredible wife.

“But there was something between us, something unspoken. She went to Mass every Sunday. I went to the mosque every Friday. We lived parallel spiritual lives that never met.

“When our children were born—first Omar in 2018, then Aisha in 2020—we had to have difficult conversations.

“‘How are we going to raise them?’ Julia asked. ‘Muslims or Christians?’

“‘Muslims,’ I said. ‘It’s my faith, it’s the truth. And if when they grow up they want to be Christians, we will respect their decision when they are adults, but for now we will raise them Muslims.’

“She accepted, though I saw sadness in her eyes. I think she had hoped I would relent on this, but I couldn’t. My identity as a Muslim was too strong.

“Write in the comments where you’re listening from. I need to know there’s someone on the other side who understands what it’s like to be divided between two worlds, between faith and love, between family and heart. Because what I’m about to tell now is how that division was finally resolved in the most unexpected way.

“In 2023, I started experiencing something strange. Pains in my chest—not physical heart pains, but something different, something I couldn’t explain to doctors. It was like a weight, a constant pressure in my chest, especially when I prayed. When I did *sujud*, prostrating towards Mecca, I felt that weight increase, as if something was pushing me down. I went to several doctors. They did electrocardiograms, X-rays, blood tests. Everything normal. ‘Maybe it’s anxiety,’ they said. They prescribed me anti-anxiety medication. I took it for 3 months. It didn’t help. The weight remained.

“I started to think it was spiritual. Maybe I had a *jinn*, an evil spirit. I went to a *shaykh* at the mosque in Rome. He performed *ruqyah*, an Islamic exorcism, over me. He recited from the Qur’an. He blew into water he gave me to drink. Nothing changed. The weight in my chest grew stronger, especially in my moments of prayer.

“I reached the point where I couldn’t concentrate in *salat*. My mind wandered. My prayers felt empty, mechanical, just movements without real connection to Allah. This scared me. I had been a devout Muslim all my life. Now I felt as if I were losing my faith and I didn’t know why.

“In March 2025, the weight became unbearable. There were days I couldn’t breathe well. I felt as if someone were sitting on my chest. Julia was very worried. She took me to the emergency room twice. Both times the doctors found nothing. ‘Everything is normal, Mr. Almansur. Your lungs are fine, your heart is fine. Perhaps you need to see a psychologist.’ But I knew it wasn’t psychological. It was something deeper, something spiritual, something medicine couldn’t touch.

“I stopped going to the mosque because I couldn’t bear to be there with that weight. I stopped performing my five daily prayers. I only did one or two when I could. I felt guilty, horrible. I felt I was failing Allah, but I couldn’t continue.

“One night in April 2025, after another crisis where I couldn’t breathe, Julia hugged me in bed. I was crying.

“‘Rashid, I don’t know what to do. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for years, but I was afraid. But now I have to ask.’

“‘What thing?’

“‘Come with me to Assisi. There’s the tomb of a saint. Carlo Acutis was only a teenager when he died, but he has been performing miracles. Many people have been healed. Maybe he can help you.’

“My first reaction was rejection. ‘Julia, I can’t. I’m Muslim. I can’t go ask for help from a Christian saint. It’s *shirk*.’

“‘Please, Rashid,’ she kept crying. ‘Just come. Just look. You don’t have to pray if you don’t want to, just come with me. It’s been 7 years we’ve been married and you have never entered a church with me. You have never seen what is important to me. I’m asking you not as a Christian, but as your wife who loves you and is desperate to help you.’

“Her words broke me. She was right. I had never tried to understand her faith. I had never respected what was important to her in the way she respected my faith.

“‘Alright,’ I finally said. ‘I’ll go. But just for you. Don’t expect this to change anything for me.’

“She smiled through her tears. ‘Just come. That’s all I ask.’

“We went to Assisi a week later, April 12, 2025, a Saturday. We left the children with Julia’s mother in Rome. We traveled two hours by train. I was uncomfortable the whole trip, thinking about what my father would say if he knew, thinking about what my brothers at the mosque would say. I felt like a traitor.

“We arrived in Assisi at noon. A beautiful, medieval city built on a hill. Julia took me straight to the Sanctuary of the Spoliation. We walked through narrow streets. Finally, we reached the church.

“I stopped at the entrance. ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ I said.

“She took my hand. ‘Just enter. Just look.’

“We entered. The church was full of people, mostly young people, teenagers, twenty-year-olds. There was a line in the right side nave.

“‘There is the urn,’ Julia said, pointing.

“Where is his body?

“We followed the line. I looked around, feeling very out of place with my white kufi and long beard, clearly a Muslim in the middle of a Catholic church. Some people looked at me with curiosity, but no one said anything hostile.

“After 30 minutes, we got near the urn. And then I saw it. And everything I believed, everything I had been taught, everything I had accepted as absolute truth for 34 years, began to crack. Because inside that glass urn was the body of a teenager dressed in jeans and sneakers. And it was not decomposed. It wasn’t a skeleton. It wasn’t a dried-up mummy. It was a body that appeared to be sleeping. After 19 years dead, the skin intact, natural color, hands holding a rosary, face peaceful as if dreaming.

“My rational engineering mind tried to process it, tried to find an explanation—embalming, chemicals, special conditions—but something inside me knew this was different. This was something more.

“I knelt on the kneeler, though it wasn’t my intention to kneel. Julia knelt beside me. She began to pray softly. I just looked at the body, fascinated, confused, frightened.

“And then I did something I hadn’t planned to do. I extended my right hand. I touched the glass of the urn.

“If you’re still here, if something inside you is telling you not to stop listening, write ‘I’m still here’ in the comments. Because what happened the moment I touched that glass, what entered my body, what left my chest, is the moment that divides my life into before and after. It’s the moment everything changed.

“In the second my fingers touched the glass, I felt something. I can’t describe it well. It was as if an invisible hand entered my chest and ripped out that weight that had been there for 2 years. Literally ripped it out. I felt a physical movement inside my torso. I felt something dark leave, and in its place entered light, entered warmth, entered a peace I had never felt in my life. Not in my best moments of prayer at the mosque, not when I made *du’a* (supplication) in the middle of the night, not when I read the Qur’an. This peace was different. It was complete. It was like coming home after being lost for years.

“The weight disappeared instantly. Completely. After two years of suffering, it disappeared in a second. And I could breathe. I breathed deeply. Deeper than I had breathed in years. My lungs filled with air without pain, without pressure.

“And I cried. I cried there kneeling before that urn. I cried like I hadn’t cried since I was a child. Julia looked at me, frightened.

“‘Rashid, what’s wrong?’

“But I couldn’t speak. I just cried. I just felt that impossible peace.

“And then I heard a voice. Not an audible voice with ears, but a voice in my heart, in my soul. A young, masculine, gentle voice, saying in perfect Arabic: ‘Rashid, you have been looking for God in the wrong place. God is here. He has always been here. I am the Way. Follow me.’

“I opened my eyes. I looked at the body in the urn, and I swear by God that I saw his lips move for just a second, just slightly. But I saw it. Or perhaps I didn’t see it with physical eyes, but with other eyes. I don’t know. But it was real.

“‘Who are you?’ I whispered.

“‘I am Carlo,’ the voice said. ‘I came to show you the truth. Isa, whom you call a prophet, is more than a prophet. He is God made man. He is the Savior you have been seeking. Islam taught you partial truths, but the complete truth is in Him. It is not betrayal. It is fulfillment. Abraham and Moses and the prophets all pointed to Him. Your heart knows it. That is why you have been suffering—because you were close to the truth, but not completely in it. Now you decide. Do you stay in confusion, or do you accept the complete truth?’

“I stayed there kneeling. I don’t know how long. 10 minutes, 20. Processing, feeling. My whole life passed through my mind: all my father’s teachings, all the verses of the Qur’an I had memorized, all the times I had prayed towards Mecca, everything. And at the same time, I felt that peace in my chest, that absence of the weight that had been killing me. And I knew—I knew without a doubt that something true had happened. Something real. Something I could not deny.

“Finally, I stood up. Julia hugged me.

“‘What happened?’ she asked again.

“‘It’s gone,’ I said. ‘The weight in my chest is completely gone.’

“‘Really?’

“‘Yes. The moment I touched the glass, it left. I can breathe, Julia. I can breathe.’

“She began to cry too. ‘It’s a miracle,’ she said. ‘Carlo gave you a miracle.’

“‘I need to go outside,’ I said. ‘I need air. I need to think.’

“We left the church. We sat in a nearby square. I breathed deeply, over and over, enjoying the feeling of lungs free, of a chest without weight.

“‘Julia,’ I said after a long silence. ‘Something else happened in there. Something I don’t know how to explain to you.’

“‘What thing?’

“‘I heard a voice. Or maybe I didn’t hear, but felt it. I don’t know. But it was real. It spoke to me. It told me that Isa, Jesus, is more than a prophet. That He is the Way.’

“She looked at me with big eyes. ‘And what do you think?’

“‘I don’t know what to think. My whole life I was taught that saying Jesus is God is the worst sin. It is *shirk*. It is associating partners with Allah. It is unforgivable. But… but He healed me, Julia. Something healed me in there. Something that 2 years of medicine and *ruqyah* and everything else couldn’t do. It left in a second. How do I explain that?’

“‘Don’t explain it,’ she said. ‘Just accept that it happened.’

“‘But if I accept that it happened, then I have to accept that there is real power in that place. Real power in that saint. Real power in your faith. And if I accept that, then everything I believed collapses.’

“‘Maybe it needs to collapse,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe you have been building on an incomplete foundation, and God is giving you a chance to build on a complete foundation.’

“We spent 3 hours in that square talking, crying, me asking a thousand questions, her answering with patience.

“Finally, I said, ‘I want to go back inside. I want to see again.’

“We returned to the church. The line was shorter. Now we reached the urn faster. I knelt again. I looked at the body again. I touched the glass again. And the peace filled me again. Stronger this time.

“‘What do you want from me?’ I asked in my mind.

“‘I want you to follow me,’ the voice responded. ‘I want you to know my Lord, Yeshua, Jesus. I want you to experience the love He has for you. A love that doesn’t depend on how many times you pray or how many fasts you do. Unconditional love. Love that died for you on the cross to forgive your sins. Love that rose to give you eternal life. That love is waiting for you. You just have to accept it.’

“‘How?’ I asked. ‘How do I accept?’

“‘Come tomorrow,’ the voice said. ‘Come to the morning Mass. Listen to the Word. Open your heart. The rest will flow.’

“We left the church. It was late, almost 6 PM. We decided to stay in Assisi that night. We found a small hotel. We ate dinner in silence, me processing everything.

“That night I couldn’t sleep. I was in bed looking at the ceiling, feeling my chest free of weight. For the first time in two years, touching the place where the weight had been. Feeling only peace. I thought about my father, my mother, what they would say if they knew what I was considering—apostasy, *ridda*, the worst sin in Islam, punished with death in countries where Sharia is law. But at the same time, I thought about that voice, that peace, that instant healing that no *shaykh* or doctor had achieved. I thought about the 7 years with Julia, how she had never pressured me, how she had respected my faith, how she had waited patiently. Perhaps this was the answer to her prayers. Perhaps God was responding to her 7 years of praying for me.

“At 6 in the morning, I got up. I told Julia, ‘I’m going to Mass with you.’

“She looked at me, surprised. ‘Really?’

“‘Yes. The voice told me to come. I’m coming.’

“We went to the church at 7. Mass was at 7:30. We entered. There were maybe 50 people. I sat in the back pew, nervous, observing.

“Mass began. The priest was an older Italian man. He spoke in Italian, which I understood from living in Italy for 10 years. He did readings from the Bible—one from the Old Testament, one from the Psalms, one from the Gospel. The Gospel reading was from John, chapter 10. Jesus saying, ‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep and my sheep know me. Just as the Father knows me and I know the Father, and I lay down my life for the sheep.’

“Those words struck me. *The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.* In Islam, Allah is *Ar-Rahman*, *Ar-Rahim*—Merciful, Compassionate—but He is not a shepherd who gets intimately involved with his sheep. He is a king, distant, a judge who observes and judges. But this Jesus the Gospel spoke of was different. He was God who draws near. God who knows personally. God who gives His life, dies for love.

“The priest gave a homily. He spoke about that passage. He said, ‘Jesus is not a shepherd who sends his sheep to do tasks and punishes them if they fail. He is a shepherd who walks with them, who knows them by name, who searches for them when they are lost, who gives His own life to save them. That is the God we worship. Not a distant God, but a close God. Emmanuel, God with us.’

“I began to cry again, sitting there in the back pew. Because that was exactly what had been missing in my spiritual life: closeness, personal connection. I did rituals, followed rules, but I never felt God was with me. I always felt distance. I always felt I had to earn His favor with my actions. But now I was hearing that God loved me before I did anything. That He gave His life for me, not because I deserved it, but because He loved me.

“The time for the Eucharist came. People began to go forward to receive Communion. Julia looked at me. ‘You can’t receive yet,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not baptized.’

“‘I know,’ I said. I stayed seated, observing. Watching as each person received that small host. Some cried, some smiled, all with reverence. And I remembered that in Islam we were taught that Christians eat bread and say it is God, that it’s madness. But seeing it now, seeing the devotion, seeing the tears, something in me understood that for them it was real. That they truly believed it was the Body of Christ, the Real Presence. And the voice in my heart said, ‘This is what Carlo loved. The Eucharist is where I am most present. It is where you can always find me, waiting for you.’

“After Mass, I approached the priest. I introduced myself. ‘Father, I am a Muslim. Or I was a Muslim. I don’t know what I am now. But something happened to me yesterday at the tomb of Carlo Acutis. I was healed, and now I am confused. I don’t know what to do.’

“He listened to me with patience. Then he said, ‘You have been touched by grace. The Holy Spirit is working in you. If you want to learn more about our faith, about Jesus, I can give you materials. I can connect you with priests in Rome who speak Arabic, who understand your situation.’

“Subscribe to the channel if you’re still with me, because what happened in the following weeks was a process that was painful, beautiful, terrifying, liberating—all at the same time. It was death and resurrection. It was losing an old identity and finding a new one. And I need you to understand that conversion is not a decision of a moment, but a journey of transformation.

“I returned to Rome that Sunday. On Monday, I began meeting with Father Antonio, an Egyptian priest who works with the Arabic community in Rome. He had been a Muslim. He too converted in his 20s, became a priest in his 30s. He understood exactly what I was going through.

“We met three times a week for two months. He taught me about the Christian faith, not in a confrontational way, but answering my questions. I asked him about the Trinity. ‘How can God be three and one at the same time?’

“‘Think about the sun,’ he said. ‘The sun is one, but it has three aspects: the solar disc you see in the sky, the light it emits, the heat it produces. Three manifestations of the same reality. So God is one in essence, but three in persons: Father, Son, Holy Spirit—three who share the same divine nature.’ It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but it helped me understand.

“I asked him about the crucifixion. ‘Why would God need to die? In Islam, Allah is all-powerful. He can forgive without needing a sacrifice.’

“‘It’s true that God is all-powerful,’ he said. ‘But He is also just. Sin has a consequence: death. Someone has to pay that price. In the Old Testament it was animal sacrifices, but those were temporary. They pointed toward the definitive sacrifice, when God Himself, in the person of Jesus, paid the price completely, once and for all. Not because God needed blood, but because God wanted to show us how much He loves us, to the point of dying for us.’

“I began to read the Bible. First the Gospels: John, then Matthew, Mark, Luke, Acts. I read looking for contradictions, looking for errors I had been told my whole life the Bible had. But I didn’t find them. I found a coherent story of God revealing Himself gradually: first to Abraham, then to Moses, then to the prophets, all pointing toward Jesus—the fulfillment of all promises. I read and cried, because every page showed me a God of love I had never truly known.

“The weight in my chest never returned. From that day in Assisi, I was completely free. I could breathe perfectly. It was like constant proof that something real had happened.

“I told Julia everything I was learning. She cried with joy. ‘I have prayed for this for 7 years,’ she said. ‘Every day I asked God to show you the truth. And now it’s happening.’

“But what do I do about my family?’ I asked. ‘If I get baptized, if I become a Christian, my father will never speak to me again. My mother’s heart will break. I will be considered an apostate, a traitor. In Egypt, there are people who would kill for this.’

“‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s a very difficult decision. Only you can make it. But I will be with you, no matter what.’

“I struggled for weeks. Part of me wanted to completely accept this new faith. Another part was afraid. Afraid of losing my family. Afraid of breaking a tradition of 1400 years. Afraid of being wrong.

“One night in June 2025, two months after visiting Assisi, I was alone at home. Julia had taken the children to her mother’s house. I knelt, and for the first time in my life, I spoke to Jesus directly. Not to Allah. Not to a prophet. But to God in the person of Jesus—Yeshua, I said, using the Hebrew name. ‘If You are real, if You are truly God made man, if You truly died for me, I need You to show me in a way I cannot deny. I need a sign, because what I am about to do will destroy my life as I know it. I need to know with absolute certainty that it is true.’

“I prayed like that for an hour, crying, pleading, desperate. Finally, I fell asleep there on the floor. And I had a dream. The most vivid dream I have ever had in my life.

“I was in a beautiful place, a green garden with running water, absolute peace. And someone was walking toward me. A young man in his thirties. Dark hair, eyes full of love, dressed in a simple white tunic. And I knew—without anyone telling me, I knew in my soul—that it was Him. It was Jesus.

“He approached. He hugged me. And in that hug, I felt a love I cannot describe. A love that knew everything about me—all my doubts, all my sins, all my fears—and loved me completely anyway.

“‘Rashid,’ He said with a voice that was like music. ‘You have been seeking Me all your life. Now you have found Me. Or rather, I found you. I have always been looking for you. I never left you, even when you didn’t know Me. Now, know Me. Follow Me. And I will give you life—abundant life. It won’t be easy. You will suffer losses. But you will gain something much greater. You will gain Me. And I am enough.’

“I woke up crying. It was 5 AM. The dream had been so real that for a moment I thought I had really been there.

“That day, I called Father Antonio. ‘I am ready,’ I said. ‘I want to be baptized.’

“‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

“‘Completely sure. Jesus spoke to me in a dream. He showed me He is real. I cannot deny it any longer.’

“We began the catechumenate process—intensive classes three times a week. I learned the Creed, the sacraments, the history of the Church, everything. My baptism date was scheduled for August 15, the Feast of the Assumption of Mary.

“Two weeks before the baptism, I called my parents in Egypt. The most difficult call of my life.

“‘Baba,’ I said to my father. ‘I need to tell you something. Please don’t hang up.’

“‘What happened?’ he asked.

“‘I’m going to be baptized. I’m becoming a Christian.’

“Long silence. Then: ‘Rashid, what are you saying?’ His voice trembled. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

“‘No, Baba. On the contrary, I found what I had been seeking. I was healed from an illness I had for 2 years. No doctor could help me. I was healed at the tomb of a Christian saint. And since then I have been studying, learning, and I know this is the truth.’

“‘It’s that woman,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘She brainwashed you. She took you away from your faith.’

“‘No, Baba. She never pressured me. This was my decision.’

“‘Rashid, if you do this, you are dead to me. You are no longer my son. You are no longer my family. Don’t call me again. Don’t come to Egypt. You don’t exist.’ And he hung up.

“I called my mother. She cried without stopping. ‘Abbī, my son, what have you done? How can you betray Allah? How can you betray the Prophet, peace be upon him? I will die of sadness over this.’ I tried to explain to her. She didn’t want to hear. She also hung up.

“The day of my baptism, August 15, 2025, was a day of joy mixed with pain. The church was full. Julia was there with our children, her family, friends. Some Muslims I knew looked at me with sadness or anger because word had spread in the community.

“Father Antonio performed the ceremony. He asked me questions.

“‘Rashid, do you renounce Satan?’

“‘I renounce him.’

“‘And all his works?’

“‘I renounce them.’

“‘And all his seductions?’

“‘I renounce them.’

“‘Do you believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth?’

“‘I believe.’

“‘Do you believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord?’

“‘I believe.’

“‘Do you believe in the Holy Spirit?’

“‘I believe.’

“He poured water over my head three times. ‘I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’

“In that moment, I felt something as if breaking. Invisible chains I had carried all my life fell away. And the Holy Spirit entered. I felt Him. A gentle fire filling my chest—the same place where the weight had been, now filled with light. I cried. Everyone in the church cried.

“I received my First Communion that day. That small host they gave me—when I put it in my mouth and swallowed it, I felt a Presence. I felt Jesus literally entering me, fulfilling His promise: ‘Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him.’

“After the baptism, my life changed completely. I lost contact with my family in Egypt. My father kept his word—he doesn’t speak to me. My mother occasionally sends me a secret message saying she prays for me, that she hopes I will return to Islam, but my father doesn’t know. I lost many Muslim friends. Some call me a traitor. Some say I sold my soul for a European woman. They don’t understand it wasn’t for Julia. It was for Jesus.

“But I gained something infinitely more valuable. I gained a personal relationship with God. I gained a peace that surpasses understanding. I gained a community of faith that accepts me completely. I gained a rich spiritual life where every day I discover something new about God’s love.

“My children are now being raised Christian. Omar is 7. Aisha is 5. I teach them about Jesus, about His love, about how He died for us. I teach them to pray—not mechanical prayers, but real conversation with God. I teach them that they are loved unconditionally. They don’t have to earn God’s favor. They already have it by grace.

“I returned to Assisi every year on the anniversary of my healing—April 12. I go alone. I kneel before Carlo’s urn. I touch the glass. I thank Carlo. ‘Thank you for showing me the way. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for guiding me to Jesus. Your short life of 15 years changed my life of 34 years.’

“Now I am 42 years old in 2033. It’s been 8 years since that date. And every day I thank God for that day, for that touch, for that miracle.

“I started a blog in Arabic telling my story. Many Muslims write to me, some with curiosity, some with anger. I try to answer everyone with love. I don’t try to convert them by force. I just share my experience, what happened, what I found. Some tell me I am a *munafiq*, a hypocrite, that I sold my soul. But others tell me in secret that they are questioning too, that they feel an emptiness in Islam, that they want to know more about Jesus. To those I give materials. I connect them with priests who understand the situation of Muslims who are questioning.

“If you’re listening to this and you’re Muslim, if you’ve been feeling that something is missing in your spiritual life, if you’ve been doing all the prayers, all the fasts, all the *zakāt*, but still feel an emptiness, I want to tell you something: It is not betrayal to seek the truth. It is not betrayal to question. It is not betrayal to investigate who Jesus really is. Because if Islam is right, then your investigation will only strengthen your faith. But if Christianity is right, then your investigation will lead you to eternal life.

“I’m not telling you to leave your faith immediately. I’m telling you to search, to ask, to ask God to show you the truth, whatever it is. If God is truly God, then He is not afraid of your questions. He is not offended by your search. He will guide you. He will show you, just as He showed me.

“My name is Rashid Almansur. I was born a Muslim in Cairo, Egypt. I spent 34 years of my life believing Islam was the only truth. Performing five prayers a day, fasting Ramadan, trying to be a good Muslim, but always feeling distance from Allah, always feeling I had to earn His favor.

“Until one day my Italian wife took me to the tomb of a teenage saint in Assisi. I touched the glass urn where his body rests. I was instantly healed of a 2-year illness. I heard a voice telling me that Jesus is the Way. I began a journey of search that ended in my baptism.

“I lost my birth family, but I gained an eternal family. I lost my identity as a Muslim, but I gained an identity as a child of God. I lost my religion of rules, but I gained a relationship of love.

“And now I live every day in gratitude for that April afternoon in 2025, when God found me in the least expected place, using a teenage saint who died almost 20 years ago, showing me that His love knows no borders, knows no religions, only knows hearts that seek Him sincerely. And when He finds those hearts, He transforms them completely.

“Carlo, thank you for guiding me to Jesus.

“Jesus, thank you for loving me when I didn’t yet know You.

“Holy Spirit, thank you for transforming me every day.”