They watch this Arab businessman reviewing his billion-dollar oil contracts. His name is Dilawir. He just publicly mocked Jesus at a party with 200 guests. Then papers start swirling mysteriously, forcing him to his knees.

My name is Dilawir. I’m 45 years old. And on May 26, 2023, I experienced something that shattered my entire world view. I own $12 billion in oil assets across Saudi Arabia. That morning, an invisible force brought me to my knees in my own office.

I built my fortune from a single oil well my father left me when he died in 2001. Back then, it was barely producing 500 barrels a day, and I was drowning in debt from his medical bills. But I had this burning determination to prove myself, to show the world that I could turn dust into gold. I worked 18-hour days, slept in my truck next to the drilling sites, and reinvested every penny back into expansion. Within 5 years, I had acquired three more wells. By age 30, I controlled a dozen oil field across the eastern province. By age 40, I controlled half the oil exports in the Eastern Province. My company, Dilawir Energy Holdings, was pulling 50,000 barrels a day from the ground. The money flowed like the oil itself, endless and intoxicating.

I remember the exact moment I realized I had become truly wealthy. I was sitting in my newly purchased office building in downtown Riad, looking at bank statements that showed $2 billion liquid assets. I leaned back in my leather chair and thought to myself, ‘I am unstoppable.’

Success made me believe I was untouchable, that I was my own master. Every deal I touched turned profitable. Every investment multiplied. I started to think that I possessed some special power, some divine favor that made me superior to other men. When my accountant would warn me about risky investments, I would dismiss him with a wave of my hand. When my legal advisor suggested we should be more cautious with certain contracts, I would laugh and tell him that caution was for poor people. I genuinely believed that I had transcended the limitations that bound ordinary humans.

Christianity disgusted me completely. I saw it as western weakness, a religion for the defeated and the desperate. In my mind, Christians were people who couldn’t handle the real world, so they invented an imaginary friend in the sky to make themselves feel better about their failures. I would watch Christian businessmen bow their heads before meals and think how pathetic they’re thanking an invisible carpenter for food they earned with their own hands. When Christian business partners mentioned prayer, I would openly laugh right in their faces.

I remember one particular meeting with an oil executive from Texas. His name was Robert, and he had flown all the way to Riyad to discuss a joint venture worth $800 million. Before we began negotiations, he politely asked if he could say a quick prayer for a wisdom in our discussions. I burst out laughing so hard that I nearly fell out of my chair. I told him, ‘Save your prayers for people who need them. I make my own luck.’ The poor man’s face turned red with embarrassment, but I felt nothing but satisfaction at putting him in his place.

I refused contracts with Christian companies just to make a point about my superiority. It wasn’t about business strategy or profit margins. It was about proving that I didn’t need their God, their prayers, or their moral guidelines to succeed. My assistant would research potential partners and if she discovered they were openly Christian companies, I would automatically reject their proposals. I turned down deals worth millions of dollars simply because I wanted to demonstrate that Christianity was irrelevant to real success. I thought I was making a statement about strength and independence.

My assistant would book the most expensive restaurants just to show off my wealth and power. We’re talking about establishments that charge $500 per person just for the privilege of walking through their doors. I would order the most expensive items on the menu, not because I particularly enjoyed them, but because I could. I wanted everyone in those restaurants to know that money was no object for me. I would tip waiters more in a single evening than most people earned in a month just to watch their expressions of amazement and gratitude.

I owned palaces in Dubai, London, New York, and Monaco. Each property was worth more than 50 million, and I had decorated them with the finest art furniture and technology that money could buy. The Dubai Palace had a private beach and a helicopter landing pad. The London mansion overlooked Hyde Park and had a wine celler worth 3 million. The New York penthouse occupied an entire floor of a Manhattan skyscraper with floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of Central Park. The Monaco estate had its own private yacht dock and a garage housing. My collection of luxury cars worth 20 million.

I believed money could solve any problem, control any situation, and open any door. When my brother got arrested for a minor drug possession charge, I paid $2 million to make the case disappear completely. When my daughter wanted to attend Harvard, but her grades weren’t quite good enough, I donated 5 million to their endowment fund and she was accepted the next week. When I wanted to meet with government officials who normally wouldn’t give me the time of day, I would make generous donations to their favorite charities and suddenly their calendars would open up for me.

You have to understand when you live like this for 20 years, when every obstacle crumbles before your wealth and every person bows before your influence, you start to believe that you really are a god among men. I would wake up each morning feeling invincible, knowing that I could reshape the world according to my desires. I thought Christianity was for weak people because I had never experienced weakness myself. I thought prayer was pointless because I had never encountered a problem that money couldn’t solve. I was living proof in my own mind that human will and intelligence were superior to any divine power that might exist.

May 25th, 2023 will forever be etched in my memory as the night I made the most foolish decision of my entire life. I had decided to host what I called a victory celebration at my Riyad mansion. Earlier that day, I had just closed the largest deal in my company’s history, a $3 billion acquisition of oil fields in the northern region that would increase my daily production by 30,000 barrels. I was feeling absolutely invincible, like I was touching the face of Allah himself through my own brilliance and determination.

I invited 200 oil executives from across the Middle East, Europe, and America. These weren’t just business associates. These were the most powerful men in the global energy sector, princes from the royal family, CEOs of major corporations, government ministers who controlled energy policy, and billionaire investors who could move markets with a single phone call.

My mansion was transformed into a showcase of my success. I had hired the finest caterers from Paris, imported champagne that cost $500 per bottle, and arranged for a string quartet that had performed for European royalty. The evening started exactly as I had planned. Guests were walking through my marble hallways, admiring my art collection worth 50 million and discussing deals that would shape the future of global energy. I was wearing my most expensive suit, a custom-made creation from Milan that had cost $15,000 and my watch was a limited edition Rolex that only 12 people in the world owned. I felt like the king of my own universe surrounded by my subjects who depended on my favor for their own prosperity.

A Christian partner from Texas had flown in specifically for this celebration. His name was Michael Thompson and he represented a consortium of American oil companies that wanted to establish long-term purchasing agreements with my firm. We had been negotiating for months and this deal would have been worth approximately $500 million annually for the next decade. Michael was a softspoken man in his 60s with gray hair and kind eyes that reminded me of my grandfather. He had always been respectful in our business dealings, never pushing his religious beliefs. But I knew from our previous meetings that his faith was very important to him.

I had been drinking throughout the evening, celebrating my latest triumph with glass after glass of the finest whiskey money could buy. Each drink made me feel more powerful, more invincible, more convinced that I was truly a superior human being who had transcended the limitations that bound ordinary people. The alcohol amplified every arrogant thought I had ever harbored about my own greatness and my disdain for what I considered religious weakness.

Around 10 p.m., Michael approached me near the main staircase where many guests could overhear our conversation. He congratulated me on my latest acquisition and said he was grateful for the opportunity to work with someone of my caliber. Then with genuine warmth in his voice, he said something that would trigger the most shameful moment of my life. He told me that he had been praying for my continued success and that he believed God had blessed me with extraordinary business wisdom. He said it with such sincerity, such honest admiration that a normal person would have simply thanked him and moved on with the conversation. But I was not normal that night. I was drunk on alcohol and drunk on my own pride.

Something inside me snapped when he mentioned prayer and God’s blessing. The idea that this kind old man thought I needed divine assistance to achieve what I had clearly accomplished through my own intelligence and effort infuriate me beyond reason. I felt like he was insulting my capabilities, suggesting that I was not solely responsible for my own success.

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. The sound was sharp enough that conversations around us began to fade as people turned to see what was happening. I raised my crystal glass filled with 30-year-old scotch and in a voice loud enough for everyone in the main hall to hear, I made the declaration that would change my life forever.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I announce my words slightly slurred but unmistakably clear. ‘My friend Michael here thinks I need God’s help to be successful. He thinks this Jesus character deserves credit for what I have built with my own two hands.’

The room was starting to grow quiet with more and more guests turning their attention to my spontaneous speech. I should have stopped there, but the alcohol and my overwhelming arrogance pushed me further.

‘If this Jesus is so powerful,’ I continued, my voice rising with each word. ‘If this carpenter from 2,000 years ago really controls anything in this world, then let him try to stop me from becoming even richer tomorrow. Let your precious savior try to prevent me from closing my next billion dollar deal.’

The silence in the room was becoming uncomfortable, but I was too far gone to care. Michael’s face had gone pale, and I could see tears beginning to form in his kind eyes. Other guests were looking at the floor, clearly embarrassed by my outburst. Even my closest Muslim brothers and business partners seemed shocked by the intensity of my blasphemy. But instead of feeling ashamed, I felt victorious. I thought I was demonstrating my intellectual superiority and my freedom from superstitious thinking.

I raised my glass higher and delivered the final blow that would seal my fate. ‘Your carpenter… God means absolutely nothing in my world,’ I declared with a triumphant smile. ‘Money is my god. Success is my religion. And I am my own savior. Jesus Christ is a fairy tale for weak people who cannot handle reality.’

The room fell completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop on that marble floor. Michael Thompson quietly sat down his drink, looked at me with profound sadness in his eyes, and walked toward the exit without saying another word. Several other Christian guests followed him out, and I watched them leave with satisfaction, thinking I had just cleansed my party of weak-minded individuals.

As Michael reached the front door, he turned back and looked at me one final time. Even from across the room, I could see that his cheeks were wet with tears. He mouthed the words, ‘I will pray for you,’ and disappeared into the night.

I left and took another drink, feeling like I had just won the greatest victory of my life. I had no idea that I had just signed my own spiritual death warrant.

May 26, 2023, 10:30 a.m. I remember the exact time because I had just finished my morning coffee and was looking at my Rolex when everything began to change forever. I was sitting in my executive office on the 40th floor of the Daw Energy Holdings building in downtown Riyad. The office itself was a monument to my success with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, Persian rugs worth more than most people’s houses, and a mahogany desk that had once belonged to a European king.

My secretary had just brought me my usual morning reports along with a fresh cup of Arabic coffee prepared exactly the way I liked it. She was a efficient woman who had worked for me for eight years and she knew my routine perfectly. She placed the financial statements, market analysis and contract reviews in precise stacks on the left side of my desk, the coffee on a silver tray to my right, and quietly withdrew without disturbing my concentration. This was how every successful morning began in my world of absolute control and predictable luxury.

I was reviewing the paperwork for what would become my greatest triumph, a $4 billion expansion deal that would extend my oil operations into three new provinces. The contracts were spread across my massive desk, each page representing millions of dollars in future revenue. I was particularly excited about this acquisition because it would make me the largest independent oil producer in Saudi Arabia, surpassing even some government-controlled entities. My financial advisers had projected that this expansion would increase my net worth to over 15 billion within 18 months.

I picked up my gold-plated fountain pen, a gift I had bought for myself when I reached my first billion in assets, and began signing the final documents. Each signature felt like a declaration of my supremacy over the business world. I was thinking about how I would announce this acquisition to the media, how I would structure the press conference to maximize the impact on my public image. I felt absolutely unstoppable, like I was writing my name in the history books of global commerce.

As I signed the fourth contract, something extraordinary and terrifying began to happen. The temperature in my office started dropping rapidly, but not gradually like when air conditioning kicks in. This was immediate and dramatic, like someone had opened a portal to the Arctic. Within seconds, I could see my breath forming small clouds in front of my face. I looked around, confused, wondering if there was some malfunction with the building’s climate control system. I pressed the intercom button to call my secretary and ask her to check the air conditioning. But when I spoke, my voice came out invisible puffs of vapor. The office had become so cold that I was shivering in my expensive wool suit.

I stood up from my chair and walked to the thermostat on the wall, but the display showed that the temperature was set to a normal 72° Fahrenheit. The building maintenance system showed no errors, no alerts, nothing that could explain this sudden and dramatic temperature change.

That’s when I noticed my hands beginning to tremble uncontrollably. At first, I thought it was just a reaction to the cold, but as I looked down at my fingers, I realized this was something far more serious. The trembling was starting in my fingertips and spreading up through my wrists and into my arms. I couldn’t hold my gold pen steady. When I tried to grip it tighter, my entire hand would shake so violently that I dropped it onto the desk with a loud clatter.

I attempted to pick up my coffee cup to warm my hands, but I couldn’t maintain a steady grip. The expensive china rattled against the silver tray as my hands shook beyond my control. This was not normal nervousness or caffeine jitters. This was something primal and terrifying like my body was responding to a threat that my mind couldn’t yet comprehend. I had never experienced anything like this in my entire life. I was a man who had faced down hostile takeovers, government investigations, and death threats without my hands ever shaking.

I tried to convince myself that I was having some kind of medical episode, perhaps a reaction to the stress of closing such a massive deal. I reached for my phone to call my personal doctor. But as I lifted the device, something impossible began happening right before my eyes.

The papers on my desk, heavy contract documents printed on expensive letterhead started lifting into the air without any explanation. There was no wind in my office. The windows were sealed. The air conditioning vents were not blowing and there were no fans running anywhere in the room. Yet the substantial documents were arising from my desk and beginning to move in slow deliberate circles above my head. Not scattered randomly like they would in a windstorm, but imperfect organized patterns as if they were being controlled by an invisible choreographer.

I stood up quickly, knocking my chair backward, and stared in absolute disbelief at what I was witnessing. My $4 billion contracts were dancing through the air like leaves in an autumn breeze, but there was no breeze. The movement was gentle, but unmistakably supernatural. Pages covered with my signatures, legal language, and financial projections were floating in graceful spirals around my office, defying every law of physics I understood.

I rubbed my eyes hard, thinking perhaps I was hallucinating from stress or lack of sleep. But when I opened them again, the papers were still airborne, still moving in those impossible patterns. I reached out to grab one of the floating documents, but as my trembling hand approached it, the paper drifted away just beyond my reach, as if it was being pulled by an intelligent force that was playing with me.

My gold fountain pen, which I had dropped moments earlier, suddenly began rolling across my desk by itself, not falling off the edge as gravity would dictate, but moving in a straight line toward the center of the mahogany surface. Then, to my complete horror and amazement, the pen stood up vertically on its tip and began writing by itself across one of the few contracts that had remained on my desk. I watched in terror as my own pen, guided by an invisible hand, wrote words in Arabic script across my billion-dollar acquisition documents. The handwriting was not mine, but it was elegant and precise, as if written by someone with perfect penmanship and absolute confidence. I couldn’t read what was being written because my hands were shaking too violently, and my vision was blurred by fear and confusion.

This was the moment when my rational mind, my scientific understanding of the world. My belief in my own control over reality began to completely shatter. I was witnessing something that defied everything I thought I knew about how the universe operated. There was no logical explanation, no scientific theory that could account for what was happening in my office. I was face to face with a power that was beyond human comprehension, beyond my wealth and influence, beyond my ability to control or understand.

The floating papers and the self-writing pen were just the beginning of what would become the most terrifying and transformative experience of my entire existence.

As I stood there watching my gold fountain pin move across the contracts with supernatural precision, I felt something far more overwhelming than the physical impossibilities happening around me. There was a presence in that room, something massive and invisible that seemed to fill every corner of my spacious office.

I tried to step backward toward the door, thinking that if I could just get out of the office, this nightmare would end and I could return to my normal controlled world. But as I lifted my right foot to take that first step away from my desk, I felt an enormous invisible weight pressing down on my shoulders. It wasn’t painful, but it was absolutely irresistible. Imagine trying to walk while carrying a mountain on your back. Every attempt to move felt like I was fighting against the gravitational pull of a planet.

My legs, which had carried me confidently through boardrooms and across oil fields for decades, suddenly felt like they were made of water. The strength simply drained out of my muscles, starting from my thighs and flowing downward like someone had opened a valve in my body. I grabbed the edge of my mahogany desk with both hands, trying to steady myself, but my arms were shaking so violently that I couldn’t maintain a solid grip on the smooth wood surface.

The trembling had spread throughout my entire body now. My legs were quivering like a newborn calf trying to stand for the first time. My torso was shaking so hard that my expensive suit jacket was flapping against my chest. Even my jaw was trembling, making my teeth chatter audibly in the supernatural cold that had filled my office. I had become a grown man reduced to the physical state of someone experiencing hypothermia. But I knew instinctively that no amount of heat would stop this shaking.

I tried to call out for help to summon my secretary or my security team. But when I opened my mouth, only a weak whisper emerged. My voice had abandoned me just like my physical strength. I was a billionaire oil tycoon who commanded respect and fear from powerful men around the world, and I couldn’t even produce enough sound to call for assistance from the next room. The realization of my complete helplessness in this moment was almost as terrifying as the supernatural events themselves.

My heart was pounding with such violence that I could hear it echoing in my ears like thunder. Each heartbeat felt like it might be my last. The rhythm was so fast and irregular that I genuinely thought I was experiencing a massive heart attack. I had always prided myself on my excellent physical condition, my regular exercise routine, and my access to the best medical care money could buy. But none of that mattered now. My cardiovascular system was responding to something far beyond medical understanding.

The invisible weight pressing down on me intensified, and my knees began to buckle, despite my desperate attempts to remain standing. I was fighting with every ounce of willpower I possessed to stay upright, to maintain some shred of dignity and control, but it was like trying to hold back an ocean with my bare hands. The force was gentle but absolutely irresistible. Like a loving parent guiding a stubborn child toward an inevitable conclusion.

My left knee touched the marble floor first. The cold from the stone surface shot through my expensive suit pants and into my bone. I tried to push myself back up using my hands on the desk, but the invisible presence simply would not allow it. My right knee followed and suddenly I was kneeling on the floor of my own office surrounded by floating contracts and supernatural phenomena that my rational mind could not process or accept.

I was gasping for air like a drowning man who had just broken the surface of deep water. Each breath felt insufficient, like the oxygen in my office had been replaced with something thinner and less nourishing. My lungs were working overtime, but I felt like I was suffocating despite the fact that I was clearly breathing. The panic of not being able to get enough air only intensified my heart palpitations and made my trembling even more violent.

In that moment of complete physical collapse, I felt something that I had never experienced in my 45 years of life. It was a presence not just in the room, but somehow inside my consciousness, looking directly at my soul, not with the burning anger I might have expected after my blasphemous performance the night before, but with profound disappointment. It was the kind of sadness a loving father might feel watching his son make choices that would destroy his life.

This presence knew everything about me. Every lie I had told, every person I had cheated, every moment of pride and cruelty that had built my empire. It saw through all my expensive clothes, my impressive titles, my billion-dollar bank accounts, and looked directly at the corrupt and selfish heart that had driven my entire adult life. There was nowhere to hide, no lawyer to call, no amount of money that could buy my way out of this moment of absolute spiritual exposure.

Have you ever felt completely naked in front of someone who could see every shameful thing you had ever done? That’s what happened to me on that marble floor. Every secret I had kept. Every corner of darkness in my soul, every moment of cruelty or selfishness was laid bare before this loving but disappointed presence.

I understood for the first time in my life that I was not the master of my own destiny. That I was not the brilliant and powerful man I had imagined myself to be. I was just a broken sinful human being who had spent decades worshiping money and pride instead of truth. The contracts floating around my head represented everything I had thought was important. Everything I had sacrificed relationships and integrity to achieve. But in the presence of this divine love and disappointment. All of that seemed as worthless as dust in the wind.

The tears started slowly, just a few drops rolling down my cheeks as I knelt there, shaking and gasping. But within moments, the crying became uncontrollable, sobbing. I was weeping like I had never weeped in my entire adult life. Not even when my father died or when my first business nearly failed. These were tears that seemed to come from the deepest part of my soul. Tears that had been building up for decades of spiritual emptiness and moral compromise.

I stayed on that cold marble floor for what felt like hours, though I later learned it was only about 2 hours of real time. I cried until my eyes were swollen and my throat was raw. I trembled until my muscles were exhausted. And through it all, that presence remained with me, not condemning me, but waiting patiently for me to understand what I needed to do next.

When I finally found the strength to stand up from that marble floor, my legs were still shaking and my face was swollen from two hours of uncontrollable weeping. The floating papers had settled back onto my desk in neat stacks, as if some invisible secretary had organized them perfectly. The supernatural cold had lifted from my office, but the spiritual heat of what I had just experienced was burning in my chest like a fire that would never be extinguished.

I looked at my Rolex and realized that my entire world had changed in the span of a single morning. My secretary had probably been wondering why I hadn’t responded to any calls or messages, but I couldn’t even think about business anymore. Every contract on my desk, every acquisition report, every financial projection looked completely meaningless after what I had just encountered. I had touched something eternal, something that made my billions seem like pocket change.

My hands were still trembling as I reached for my private phone. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for Michael Thompson, the Christian partner I had humiliated so cruelly the night before. The man whose tears I had caused with my arrogant blasphemy, who had quietly left my party after I mocked his savior in front of 200 witnesses.

I stared at his name on my phone screen for several minutes, wondering if he would even answer a call from me after what I had done. When I finally pressed the call button, my heart was pounding almost as hard as it had during the supernatural encounter. The phone rang three times before his familiar voice answered with a cautious, ‘Hello, Dilawir.’ I could tell from his tone that he was surprised to hear from me so soon after the previous night’s disaster.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a broken sob. ‘Michael,’ I managed to whisper through my tears. ‘I need to know about this Jesus right now, please.’ The words felt foreign in my mouth, like I was speaking a language I had never learned. For a man who had spent decades commanding respect and never asking anyone for help, this request felt like I was admitting complete defeat. But I knew that my defeat was exactly what needed to happen.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. I could almost hear Michael’s shock through the silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with the same kindness and gentleness he had shown me before I destroyed our business relationship with my arrogance. ‘Dilawir, what happened? Are you all right?’ His concern was genuine even after I had publicly humiliated him and mocked everything he held sacred.

I tried to explain what had happened in my office, but the words sounded insane even to my own ears. How do you tell a respected businessman that papers were floating around your office and invisible hands were writing on your contracts? How do you describe a supernatural presence that brought you to your knees without any physical manifestation?

Michael listened patiently as I stumbled through my account, never interrupting or expressing skepticism. When I finished describing my experience, Michael was quiet for almost a minute. Then he said something that to it changed the trajectory of my spiritual journey forever. ‘Dilawir, I believe you. I’ve been praying for you since I left your party last night, asking Jesus to reveal himself to you in a way you couldn’t ignore. It sounds like he answered that prayer more dramatically than I ever imagined.’

Michael explained that what I was asking for could cost both of us everything. In Saudi Arabia, conversion from Islam to Christianity was not just socially unacceptable. It could be a death sentence. He told me about the underground Christian community in Riyad, believers who risk their lives every day to follow Jesus in a country where such faith was considered treason against both religion and state.

Within two hours, Michael had arranged for me to meet with someone he called the house church leader. I learned later that this man had been secretly shepherding a group of Saudi Christian converts for over 15 years, operating under constant threat of discovery and execution. The meeting was set for that evening at a location that would be revealed to me only at the last minute following security protocols that these believers had developed to protect their lives.

That afternoon was the longest six hours of my entire life. I sat in my office staring at the same contracts that had been floating through the air that morning. But I couldn’t focus on a single word of business language. My mind was consumed with questions about Jesus, about Christianity, about what it would mean to abandon the Islamic faith I had been born into. I had never seriously considered the claims of any religion before, viewing them all as outdated superstitions for weak-minded people.

I spent hours on my computer researching Christianity, reading about Jesus Christ, trying to understand what this carpenter from 2,000 years ago could possibly offer a successful modern businessman like myself. The more I read, the more I realized how little I actually knew about Christian beliefs. My previous knowledge had been limited to crude stereotypes and cultural prejudices that had never been challenged by actual investigation.

At 8:00 p.m., I received a text message with an address in an older part of Riyad that I had never visited despite living in the city for decades. I was instructed to park three blocks away and walk to a specific apartment building, then knock on apartment 4B using a particular pattern. The level of secrecy required for this meeting drove home the reality of what I was considering. This wasn’t just a business decision or a philosophical discussion. This was a choice that could fundamentally alter every relationship and opportunity in my life.

I drove through the narrow streets of Old Riyad in my luxury sedan, feeling completely out of place among the modest apartments and small shops. When I knocked on the door of apartment 4B using the prescribed pattern, it was opened by a man in his 50s with graying hair and eyes that seemed to hold both tremendous joy and deep sorrow. He welcomed me with a warmth that I had never experienced from a stranger.

The house church leader who told me to call him brother Ahmed invited me into his simple living room where five other Saudi Christians were waiting. These people had risked their safety just to meet with me, a man who had publicly mocked their savior less than 24 hours earlier. The love and acceptance they showed me was unlike anything I had ever encountered in my world of business relationships built on mutual benefit and strategic advantage.

Brother Ahmed opened an Arabic Bible and began reading passages about Jesus that seemed to speak directly to my situation. He read about the rich young ruler who was asked to give up his wealth to follow Christ. He read about Saul of Tarsus who had persecuted Christians before becoming the Apostle Paul. He read about the thief on the cross who found salvation in his final moments. Each story felt like it had been written specifically for me.

For three weeks, I met secretly with this underground Christian community almost every night. They taught me about grace, about forgiveness, about the difference between religion and relationship. They explained that Christianity wasn’t about following rules or performing rituals, but about accepting the love and sacrifice that Jesus had offered to every human being, including proud and sinful men like me.

Reading the Bible felt like reading my own story, but written by someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Every verse seemed to convict me of my pride, my selfishness, and my spiritual emptiness while simultaneously offering hope for redemption and transformation. The sermon on the mount challenged everything I believed about success and power. The parables of Jesus showed me a completely different way of understanding wealth and human relationships.

Ask yourself this question because it’s the same question I had to face during those three weeks of secret Bible study. If you discovered that everything you had built your life on was false, that your deepest beliefs about success and meaning were fundamentally wrong. Would you have the courage to abandon everything and start over? That’s exactly the choice I was facing as I learned about Jesus Christ and his claims on my life.

On June 15th, 2023, exactly three weeks after Jesus had brought me to my knees in my office, I made the decision that would cost me everything I had spent my entire adult life building.

Brother Ahmed had arranged for my baptism to take place at a hidden location in the desert outside Riyad, far from the eyes of government surveillance and religious police. We drove for two hours in separate vehicles following a road designed to avoid detection until we reached an abandoned well-site that had been dry for decades. The baptism took place at sunrise with only brother Ahmed and two other Christian converts as witnesses.

As I was lowered into that makeshift baptismal pool created from a large water tank that the believers had transported to this remote location, I felt my old life dying and a new life beginning. When I came up from the water gasping and dripping, I was no longer Dilawir the oil billionaire. I was Dilawir, the follower of Jesus Christ, knowing full well that this decision could cost me my fortune, my family, and possibly my life.

I gave my life to Jesus Christ that morning, understanding completely that it could cost me everything I had previously valued. As I spoke the words committing my life to him, I thought about my mansions, my oil fields, my bank accounts, and my reputation. For the first time in my adult life, none of those things seemed important compared to the peace I felt in my heart and the assurance that I had finally found truth.

Brother Ahmed prayed over me in Arabic, asking Jesus to protect me in the difficult days ahead and to give me strength to endure whatever persecution might come. The other believers embraced me as their brother in Christ, welcoming me into a family that I didn’t even know existed just one month earlier. These people who had risked their lives to teach me about Jesus were now risking even more by accepting me into their secret community.

The consequences of my conversion began within 48 hours of my baptism. My wife, who had been suspicious of my recent behavior and frequent unexplained absences, discovered a copy of the Arabic Bible that I had hidden in my home office. When she confronted me about it, I made the decision to tell her the complete truth about my conversion to Christianity.

The look of horror and disgust on her face was something I will never forget as long as I live. She immediately called my brother, my sister, and my elderly mother, informing them that I had committed apostasy and brought shame upon our entire family name. Within six hours, I received phone calls from every member of my extended family. Each conversation ending with them declaring that I was no longer their son, brother, or relative.

My mother, who was 78 years old and had sacrificed everything to raise me after my father died, told me through tears that I was dead to her and that she never wanted to see my face again.

My business partners pulled out of our agreements with unprecedented speed and ruthless efficiency. The $4 billion expansion deal that I had been signing when Jesus first intervened in my life was cancelled immediately when word of my conversion spread through the business community. My major investors, many of whom were connected to the royal family and religious establishment demanded the immediate return of their capital. Legal challenges to my ownership of various oil fields began appearing in courts across the kingdom.

Within six months, I had lost approximately 80% of my wealth. Assets that had taken me 20 years to accumulate were stripped away through legal maneuvers, contract cancellations, and forced sales at below market prices. My palatial homes in Dubai, London, New York, and Monaco were sold to cover debts and legal settlements. My collection of luxury cars worth over $20 million was auctioned off. My art collection, my jewelry, my private aircraft, everything that had symbolized my success was liquidated.

Death threats came daily through various channels. Anonymous phone calls to my office. Letters slipped under my door. Messages spray painted on the walls of my remaining properties. The threats were not just against me, but against anyone who continued to associate with me professionally or personally. My remaining employees were intimidated into quitting and my security team abandoned their posts when they realized that protecting a Christian convert could endanger their own families.

But through all of this loss and persecution, I gained something worth more than all my billions combined. I gained genuine peace for the first time in my entire life. The anxiety that had driven me to accumulate more and more wealth. The fear that someone might surpass my success. The empty loneliness that all my luxury couldn’t fill. All of that disappeared when I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I slept better as a persecuted Christian with a fraction of my former wealth than I ever had as a billionaire oil tycoon.

I started using my remaining wealth, approximately two billion that I had managed to protect through careful legal planning to help persecuted Christians throughout the Middle East. Working through brother Ahmed and the underground network of believers, I established safe houses for Christian converts who had been disowned by their families. I funded the printing and distribution of Arabic Bibles. I provided financial support for believers who had lost their jobs because of their faith. I set up secret scholarship funds to help Christian converts get education and job training that would allow them to support themselves despite the discrimination they faced.

My former mansion in Riyad was quietly converted into a safe house that could accommodate up to 20 believers who needed temporary shelter. My remaining security team, now composed entirely of Christian converts, became my ministry team, helping to coordinate these underground relief efforts.

My assistant who had worked for me for eight years and had witnessed my transformation firsthand accepted Jesus as her savior 3 months after my own conversion. She had seen the supernatural peace that replaced my previous anxiety and stress and she wanted that same transformation in her own life. Today she serves as my ministry coordinator managing the logistics of our underground Christian support network.

Today I live modestly but richly in Christ. My current home is a simple apartment that would have been completely unacceptable to my former prideful self. But it feels more like home than any of my former palaces ever did. I drive a modest car, wear simple clothes, and eat humble meals. Yet, I feel more satisfied and content than I ever did when I was consuming the most expensive luxuries money could buy.

I’ve had the incredible privilege of witnessing 47 Muslims accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior through my testimony and the ministry work we’ve established. Each conversion reminds me that my own suffering and loss were worth it to see even one soul saved from the spiritual death I was experiencing before Jesus rescued me. These new believers become part of our secret family, receiving the same support and protection that brother Ahmed’s community provided for me.

So I’m asking you just as someone who learned this truth the hard way. Don’t wait for God to bring you to your knees like he did me. Don’t wait for him to strip away everything you think is important before you recognize what actually matters. The pride that kept me from seeing Jesus. The wealth that I worshiped instead of God. The arrogance that made me mock his name. All of that was preventing me from experiencing the love and peace that he wanted to give me freely.

Look inside your own heart right now and ask yourself what you’re really trusting in for your security and meaning. Is it money like I was? Is it success, reputation, family approval, or some other idol that promises satisfaction but delivers only emptiness? That same Jesus who humbled me in my office, who brought me to my knees and then lifted me up as his child is calling your name today. He’s waiting for you to stop running from him and start surrendering to him. He’s not asking you to give up everything that brings you joy. But he is asking you to give up everything that keeps you from experiencing the joy that only he can provide.

Bend your knees willingly in prayer and surrender before he has to break them through circumstances like he did with me. He’s patient and loving, but he will do whatever it takes to rescue you from the spiritual death that I was living in for 45 years of my life.