My name is Akram. I’m 42 years old. And on March 7th, 2018, I was seconds away from being executed in a public square in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. The executioner’s blade was raised above my neck when Jesus performed a miracle that shook an entire city.

I was born into a devout Muslim family in Riyadh where the call to prayer echoed through our neighborhood five times a day and my childhood was shaped by strict Islamic teachings. My father was a respected imam at our local mosque and I grew up believing that Islam was the only path to God. For 28 years, I lived this way, following every ritual, memorizing verses from the Quran, and never questioning the faith that had been passed down through generations of my family.

Everything changed in 2010 when I discovered a small, worn Bible hidden beneath loose floorboards in an abandoned house I was renovating for work. The pages were yellowed and some were torn. But as I began reading the words of Jesus, something stirred deep within my heart that I had never experienced before. Night after night, I would sneak back to that empty house and read by flashlight, terrified that someone might discover me with this forbidden book.

The love and grace described in those pages was unlike anything I had encountered in my years of Islamic study. When Jesus spoke about laying down his life for his sheep, about loving your enemies, about forgiveness that knows no bounds, I felt as though scales were falling from my eyes. The more I read, the more I realized that this Jesus was not just a prophet as Islam taught, but something far greater. He was calling me personally, speaking directly to the emptiness I had always felt despite my religious devotion.

On a cold night in December 2010, alone in that abandoned house, I fell to my knees and surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. The moment I made that decision, I knew there was no going back. In Saudi Arabia, converting from Islam to Christianity is not just socially unacceptable. It is punishable by death under Sharia law.

I kept my new faith secret for months, but the transformation in my heart was impossible to hide completely. I began treating people differently, showing kindness to workers from other countries who were often looked down upon, and speaking words of hope and forgiveness that seemed foreign coming from someone raised in our strict religious culture.

My father noticed the change first. He confronted me one evening after I had been reading the Bible in my room, thinking everyone was asleep. He had seen the light under my door and wondered why I was awake so late. When he discovered the Bible in my possession, his face turned pale with horror and rage. He demanded I renounce this foreign religion immediately and return to proper Islamic practice.

I looked into his eyes, the same eyes that had taught me to pray as a child, and told him with trembling but determined voice, “I cannot deny Jesus Christ.”

That night changed everything between us. My father threw me out of our family home, declaring that I was no longer his son and forbidding my mother and siblings from having any contact with me. The man who had held me as a baby, who had taught me to ride a bicycle and helped me with my homework, now looked at me as though I were a stranger or worse, an enemy. The pain of that rejection cut deeper than any physical wound could have. But even in that moment, I felt the peace of Christ sustaining me.

I spent the next several years working construction jobs and living in small rented rooms. But I was not alone in my faith for long. Through careful inquiry and much prayer, I began to discover that there were other secret believers scattered throughout Riyadh. We would meet in basements, in desert locations outside the city, and in the back rooms of shops owned by sympathetic Christians from other countries who worked in Saudi Arabia. These gatherings were small, never more than eight people at a time. But the fellowship was unlike anything I had experienced.

Over the course of eight years, from 2010 to 2018, I watched our underground network grow from a handful of frightened believers to 47 committed Christians meeting in groups across the city. God began using me to lead these secret congregations. And I found myself pastoring people who had also risked everything to follow Jesus. I baptized new converts in hidden locations, performed Christian weddings in secret ceremonies, and provided biblical counseling to believers struggling under the weight of persecution and family rejection.

Every week brought new challenges and dangers. We developed elaborate systems of coded communication, changed meeting locations frequently, and lived with the constant awareness that discovery meant imprisonment, torture, or death. I trained other leaders in biblical studies, teaching them from smuggled copies of scripture and from memory when physical books were too dangerous to possess. We distributed Christian literature through carefully constructed networks, passing materials hand-to-hand like an underground resistance movement.

The government’s surveillance of religious activities increased steadily during those years. Three times our meetings were almost discovered by religious police and each near miss reminded us that we were playing a deadly game. Fellow believers began disappearing without explanation. Some were arrested and imprisoned. Others simply vanished and their families were left wondering if they were alive or dead. The pressure was constant and suffocating. But it also purified our faith in ways that comfortable Christianity never could.

Every Sunday, as I looked into the faces of my congregation, I wondered if this would be our last gathering. Would today be the day that religious police burst through the doors? Would one of us betray the others under torture? Would I have the courage to stand firm if they came for me? These questions haunted every prayer, every sermon, every communion service we shared in hidden rooms throughout the city.

Have you ever risked your life for something you believed in? I mean truly everything you hold dear, everything that gives your life meaning and purpose. Most people in free countries cannot imagine what it means to worship under the constant threat of death, to love Jesus knowing that this love could cost you your family, your livelihood, and ultimately your life. But I want you to understand that in that danger, in that daily choice to follow Christ despite the cost, we found a depth of faith and joy that I believe many comfortable Christians never experience.

The betrayal came from someone I trusted completely. Brother Ahmed had been attending our underground meetings for two years and I had personally baptized his teenage daughter in a secret ceremony held in the desert outside Riyadh. He was a quiet man who worked as an accountant for a government ministry and his questions during our Bible study showed a genuine hunger for understanding God’s word. I had welcomed him into my inner circle of trusted leaders, sharing with him the locations of our various meeting places and the names of our most committed believers.

What I didn’t know was that brother Ahmed had been working with the religious police for months, carefully documenting our activities and gathering evidence that would later be used to destroy our entire network. He had been carrying a hidden recording device to our worship services, capturing my sermons and the testimonies of new converts. He photographed our communion services, our baptisms, and our prayer meetings. Every act of worship, every expression of faith, every vulnerable moment when believers shared their struggles was being recorded and reported to authorities who were building a case against us. The betrayal was methodical and complete.

Brother Ahmed had provided the religious police with detailed maps showing the locations where we met, schedules of our services, and personal information about each member of our congregation. He knew which believers were new converts who might be pressured to renounce their faith, which ones had children who could be threatened, and which ones had government jobs that made them particularly vulnerable to persecution. His betrayal was not just of me personally, but of every person who had opened their heart in our fellowship.

On the night of March 1st, 2018, the religious police executed simultaneous raids on three of our meeting locations. I was leading a communion service in the basement of a small shop owned by a Filipino Christian when they burst through the doors. We had just finished reading from the Gospel of John about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, and we were sharing the bread and wine that represented his broken body and shed blood. The irony was not lost on me that we were remembering Christ’s sacrifice just moments before we would be called to make our own.

They came with overwhelming force, more than 20 officers armed with automatic weapons and wearing black tactical gear. They shouted commands in Arabic, ordering everyone to lie face down on the concrete floor while they zip-tied our hands behind our backs. I watched helplessly as they arrested elderly brother Khalil, whose arthritis made it difficult for him to kneel, and young sister Fatima, who was only 17 and had been secretly attending our services without her family’s knowledge.

The scene was chaotic and terrifying. Children were crying as their parents were dragged away and several of our members were beaten with batons when they tried to comfort the younger believers. The officers destroyed everything they could find, smashing our communion cups, tearing up our handwritten copies of scripture, and photographing every face for their files. They treated us like dangerous criminals rather than people whose only crime was worshiping Jesus Christ.

23 believers were arrested that night. And as they loaded us into police vans, I realized the full scope of what had happened. The raids were too coordinated, too precise for this to have been the result of random surveillance. Someone from within our fellowship had provided detailed information about our activities. The religious police knew exactly where to go, exactly when we would be meeting and exactly who the leaders were. They called my name specifically when they arrested me, identifying me immediately as the pastor they had been seeking.

During the six days of interrogation that followed, the truth about Brother Ahmed’s betrayal became clear. The officers showed me recordings of my own sermons, photographs of baptisms I had performed, and transcripts of private conversations I had shared with trusted members of our congregation. They knew intimate details about our network that only someone who had been deeply embedded in our fellowship could have provided. They knew which believers were struggling financially, which ones had family members in government positions and which ones might be most likely to break under pressure.

The interrogation was relentless and brutal. They wanted me to reveal the locations of other house churches, to provide names of believers who had escaped their raids, and to renounce my faith publicly on television as an example to other Christians in the kingdom. They used sleep deprivation, extreme temperatures, and psychological torture to try to break my resolve. They threatened to arrest my mother and siblings even though they had disowned me years earlier. They described in graphic detail what would happen to the young believers they had captured if I didn’t cooperate.

But the most painful part of the interrogation was not the physical abuse or the threats. It was seeing the evidence of brother Ahmed’s systematic betrayal played out before my eyes. They showed me video footage of him meeting with religious police officers, handing over documents and photographs of our fellowship. They played recordings where his voice could be clearly heard, providing detailed information about our activities and our members. The man I had trusted with my life and the lives of my spiritual family had sold us all for whatever the authorities had offered him.

They told me that brother Ahmed had been recruited almost from the beginning of his involvement with our church. His apparent spiritual hunger had been an elaborate performance designed to gain my trust and access to our network. His questions during Bible study had been calculated to extract information about our beliefs and practices. Even his daughter’s baptism had been part of the deception, a way to demonstrate his commitment to our cause while actually gathering evidence against us.

The religious court trial was a foregone conclusion. The evidence against me was overwhelming because it had been gathered by someone who knew every detail of our ministry. I was formally charged with apostasy for converting from Islam to Christianity, illegal preaching for leading worship services, and corrupting Muslim youth for sharing the gospel with young people. Each charge carried the death penalty under Saudi Arabia’s strict interpretation of Sharia law.

The judge, a stern man with a gray beard and cold eyes, declared that I was an enemy of Islam and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. He said that my execution would serve as a warning to other Muslims who might be tempted to abandon their faith and that my death would demonstrate the kingdom’s commitment to preserving the purity of Islamic society. The sentence was death by public beheading to be carried out on March 7th, 2018 in Riyadh’s main public square where hundreds of executions had taken place over the years.

As they led me back to my cell to await execution, I couldn’t stop thinking about Brother Ahmed and what had driven him to betray us so completely. Had he ever truly believed? Or had his entire involvement been a calculated deception from the beginning? Had the authorities threatened his family? Or had they simply offered him money and protection in exchange for his cooperation? I would never know the answers to these questions, but I made a decision that night that would prove crucial in the days ahead.

Ask yourself this question. When someone betrays you so completely, so personally, how do you respond? Do you harbor hatred and thoughts of revenge? Or do you choose the path that Jesus taught us? I chose to forgive brother Ahmed, not because he deserved it, but because Jesus had forgiven me for my own betrayals and failures. That decision to forgive, even in the face of such devastating betrayal, opened my heart to receive the supernatural grace I would need for what was coming next.

The cell they placed me in was a concrete box measuring roughly 6 ft by 8 ft with no windows and only a small slot in the steel door where they could pass food and water. The walls were stained with the desperation of previous prisoners, and the air was thick with the smell of fear and human waste. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead constantly, making it impossible to distinguish between day and night. This was where they intended to break my spirit before they broke my body.

For the first 48 hours, I could hear the sounds of my fellow believers being interrogated in nearby cells. The screams of Brother Khalil echoed through the concrete corridors as they tortured the elderly man for information about other church locations. I could hear young sister Fatima sobbing as they threatened her with things I cannot repeat, trying to force her to renounce her faith. Each cry of pain from my spiritual family felt like a knife twisting in my heart. And I found myself praying desperately for strength, not just for myself, but for all of us who were suffering.

They played Quranic verses through loudspeakers mounted outside my cell 24 hours a day. The same passages repeated endlessly at volumes designed to prevent sleep and drive prisoners to madness. The verses spoke of punishment for apostates and the eternal torment awaiting those who abandoned Islam. Between the Quranic recitations, they broadcast recordings of imams condemning Christianity and declaring that followers of Jesus were enemies of God who deserved only death and hellfire.

But something extraordinary began to happen in that place of intended torment. Instead of breaking my spirit, the isolation and persecution began to draw me into a deeper communion with Jesus than I had ever experienced before. When the human noise of Quranic verses and threats became overwhelming, I discovered that I could focus on the still, small voice of God speaking peace into my soul. The very cell that was meant to crush my faith became a sanctuary where Jesus met me in profound and supernatural ways.

On the third night, as I lay on the cold concrete floor, using my thin prison blanket as both mattress and covering, Jesus appeared to me in a vision more real than anything I had ever experienced. He was standing in my cell, but his presence filled the space with warmth and light that made the concrete walls seem to disappear. His face was kind, but marked with understanding of suffering, and his eyes held both infinite compassion and unshakable strength. He spoke to me not in Arabic or English, but in a language that my spirit understood perfectly.

He told me that my suffering was not in vain. That through what was about to happen, thousands of people would come to know him throughout Saudi Arabia and the broader Middle East. He showed me visions of Muslim families gathered in secret meetings, reading Bibles and praying to Jesus for the first time. I saw young people across the kingdom questioning Islamic teachings and seeking out Christians to learn about this Jesus who loved them enough to die for their sins.

The vision was so vivid that I could see faces of specific individuals who would come to faith as a result of what was happening to me. I saw government officials whose hearts would be softened toward Christianity, religious police officers who would secretly begin reading the New Testament, and ordinary citizens who would witness something supernatural and begin seeking the God who could perform such miracles. Jesus told me that my death would plant seeds that would grow into a harvest beyond anything I could imagine.

But the most remarkable part of the vision was when Jesus showed me what would happen at my execution. He revealed that he would not allow the sword to touch my neck, that he would intervene in a way that would demonstrate his power to thousands of witnesses. He told me that my willingness to die for him had already accomplished its purpose in the spiritual realm and that now he would use my deliverance to bring glory to his name and salvation to many souls.

Night after night, these divine encounters continued. Sometimes Jesus would appear to me in visions. Other times, I would hear his voice speaking comfort and strength into my heart. Angels would visit my cell, invisible to the guards, but clearly present to me, singing worship songs that filled the space with heavenly music that drowned out the harsh sounds of the prison. During these supernatural visits, I felt no fear of death, no anxiety about the approaching execution, only perfect peace and anticipation of how God would demonstrate his power.

The guards began to notice something unusual happening in my cell. Officer Hassan, who brought my daily meal of rice and water, told me later that he could see strange lights emanating from under my cell door during the night shifts. Other guards reported hearing beautiful singing coming from my cell even though they knew I was alone and had been ordered to remain silent. Some of them began to look at me with curiosity rather than hatred, wondering what could cause such supernatural phenomena around a condemned prisoner.

I spent every waking hour in prayer, not just for my own strength, but for the salvation of my captors, for the other believers who had been arrested with me, and for a great awakening to sweep across Saudi Arabia. I prayed for brother Ahmed, asking God to forgive him and to reveal the truth of Jesus to his heart. I prayed for my family who had disowned me, that they would understand someday why I could not deny Christ. I prayed for the executioner who would swing the sword, that God would use even that moment to demonstrate his glory.

During these six days of supernatural preparation, I also experienced periods of intense spiritual warfare. Dark oppression would sometimes fill the cell, and I would feel the weight of demonic forces trying to crush my faith and fill me with despair. In those moments, I would quote scripture passages I had memorized, declare the promises of God, and call upon the name of Jesus. Every spiritual attack was met with divine intervention, and I emerged from each battle stronger and more confident in God’s plan.

I wrote letters in my mind to my congregation and to my family. Since I had no paper or pen, I composed final messages of encouragement for the believers who would survive this persecution, urging them to continue the work of spreading the gospel regardless of the cost. I wrote mental letters of forgiveness to those who had betrayed us and to the authorities who had condemned us. Most importantly, I wrote a letter in my heart to Jesus, thanking him for counting me worthy to suffer for his name and expressing my complete trust in his plan.

The supernatural peace that filled me during those final days was beyond human understanding. I had made my peace with dying for Christ. But more than that, I had received divine revelation that my death would not be the end of the story. I knew that God was about to do something unprecedented in the history of Saudi Arabia. Something that would shake the foundations of religious oppression and open hearts to the gospel in ways that had never been possible before.

I discovered that facing death for Christ brings supernatural boldness that cannot be manufactured by human courage alone. When you know with absolute certainty that your death will advance God’s kingdom and bring people to salvation, the fear of dying disappears completely. Instead of dreading the approaching execution, I found myself anticipating it with faith-filled expectation of how Jesus would reveal his power and love to a nation that desperately needed to encounter him.

The execution squad arrived at my cell at exactly 5:00 in the morning on March 7th, 2018. I had been awake for hours, not from fear or anxiety, but because the presence of God had been so strong throughout the night that sleep seemed unnecessary. When I heard their heavy boots echoing down the concrete corridor, I felt a surge of anticipation rather than terror. This was the day that Jesus had shown me in visions, the day when his power would be displayed before thousands of witnesses.

They offered me a final meal as was customary for condemned prisoners, but I refused it. I had been fasting for the past 3 days, not from despair, but from a deep sense that I needed to be spiritually prepared for what God was about to do. The supernatural peace that had sustained me throughout my imprisonment intensified as the moment approached.

Officer Hassan, who had noticed the strange lights in my cell, looked at me with confusion when I smiled at him and thanked him for his kindness during my captivity. I spent my final hours in the cell singing hymns and praying in Arabic, my voice echoing off the concrete walls. I sang songs of worship that my underground congregation had learned, melodies that reminded me of our secret communion services and baptisms in the desert. I prayed for every person who would witness what was about to happen, asking God to prepare their hearts to receive the miracle they were about to see. I prayed for my executioner, that God would use this moment to reveal his love and power to a man whose job was to end lives.

When they came to transport me to the public square, I noticed something different in the demeanor of the guards. Usually condemned prisoners were dragged from their cells in terror, but I walked calmly between them, still humming worship songs under my breath. The guards seemed unsettled by my peace, exchanging glances with each other, as if they couldn’t understand how someone facing death could display such serenity. One of them asked me why I wasn’t afraid, and I simply told him that I knew my God was in control.

The armored vehicle ride to the execution site took 20 minutes through the streets of Riyadh. Through the small bulletproof window, I could see the city where I had spent my entire life, the place where I had been born into Islam and later born again into Christianity. I thought about all the secret believers scattered throughout these neighborhoods, probably praying for me at this very moment. I wondered if any of them would be in the crowd that had gathered to watch my death, forced to remain silent as they witnessed their pastor’s execution.

When we arrived at the public square, I was stunned by the size of the crowd that had assembled. More than 3,000 people filled the plaza, including government officials, religious leaders, international observers, and ordinary citizens who had come to witness what many expected to be just another routine execution. Television cameras from several Middle Eastern news networks were positioned around the perimeter, though I learned later that they had been instructed to stop filming before the actual beheading took place.

The executioner was a man I recognized from previous public executions that had been reported in the news. He was known throughout the kingdom for having carried out hundreds of beheadings over his career. A man whose skill with the sword was legendary and whose commitment to Islamic justice was unquestioned. He stood beside the execution platform wearing traditional black robes, his face covered except for his eyes, holding a gleaming curved sword that had ended countless lives before mine.

Religious officials and government representatives sat in a special viewing area, including several men I recognized from television broadcasts condemning Christianity and defending Saudi Arabia’s strict interpretation of Islamic law. They watched with satisfaction as I was led to the platform, no doubt expecting that my death would send a clear message to any other Muslims who might be tempted to convert to Christianity. For them, this was not just an execution, but a statement about the kingdom’s commitment to religious purity.

The charges against me were read aloud to the crowd in Arabic. Apostasy for abandoning Islam and embracing Christianity. Illegal preaching for leading worship services and sharing the gospel. Corrupting Muslim youth for introducing young people to the teachings of Jesus Christ. Each charge was met with shouts of approval from portions of the crowd who viewed my death as necessary for protecting their society from foreign religious influence.

They forced me to kneel on the execution platform, positioning my head over a drainage gutter designed to collect the blood of those who had been beheaded before me. My hands were bound behind my back with thick rope, and a blindfold was offered, which I refused. I wanted to see what God was about to do. I wanted to look into the faces of the witnesses who would tell this story for the rest of their lives.

As the executioner raised his sword above my neck, I closed my eyes and spoke the words that had been in my heart for days. “Jesus, I commit my spirit to you.”

At that moment, everything I had experienced in my prison cell, every vision and divine encounter, every promise that God had spoken to my heart was about to be fulfilled in a way that would astound everyone present.

What happened next defied every law of physics and every expectation of those who had gathered to witness a routine execution. A light more brilliant than the desert sun at midday suddenly filled the entire public square. A radiance so intense that people throughout the crowd cried out and shielded their eyes. But this was not natural light from any earthly source. This was the glory of God manifesting in physical form. The same presence that had visited me in my prison cell now revealing itself to thousands of witnesses.

In the midst of that supernatural brightness, a voice rang out across the square with such authority and power that every person present heard it clearly despite the size of the crowd. The voice spoke in Arabic in words that penetrated every heart. “This is my beloved servant in whom I am well pleased. Do not touch him.”

The voice carried the weight of divine authority. And many in the crowd immediately recognized that they were hearing something beyond human ability to produce or explain.

The executioner’s sword, which moments before had been raised to end my life, suddenly shattered like glass in his hands. The blade that had been forged from the finest steel and had never failed in hundreds of previous executions broke into dozens of pieces that scattered across the platform with a sound like crystal windchimes. The executioner himself staggered backward, staring at the broken handle in his grip with an expression of complete shock and bewilderment.

At that same moment, the thick ropes binding my hands snapped without anyone touching them, as if they had been cut by an invisible blade. I felt my arms fall free at my sides, and I slowly stood to my feet on the execution platform while the supernatural light continued to shine around me.

The crowd fell into stunned silence, then erupted in confusion as people tried to process what they had witnessed. Dozens of people throughout the square fell to their knees, some weeping uncontrollably as they encountered the presence of God for the first time in their lives. Guards who had seemed so confident and threatening just moments before now stood frozen with fear and awe. Several government officials in the viewing area had their heads buried in their hands, unable to look directly at the light that continued to emanate from the execution platform.

Look inside your own heart right now as I tell you this. Can you imagine being present for such a divine intervention? Can you comprehend the mixture of fear, awe, and wonder that filled every person in that square as they witnessed God’s power displayed in such an undeniable way? This was not a story from ancient biblical times, but a modern miracle occurring in the heart of one of the most religiously restrictive nations on earth.

The manifestation lasted for several minutes that felt like hours to everyone present. Cell phones throughout the crowd captured video footage of unexplainable phenomena, images that would later spread across social media despite government attempts to suppress them. When the supernatural light finally began to fade, I remained standing on the platform alive and unharmed. While chaos erupted throughout the square as people struggled to understand what they had witnessed, the aftermath of what happened in that public square created chaos unlike anything the Saudi authorities had ever experienced.

Government officials who had been confident and authoritative just moments before now stood in stunned confusion, unable to explain what thousands of people had witnessed. The governor of Riyadh province, who had personally overseen my execution to ensure it sent a strong message against Christian conversion, was now faced with an impossible situation that no manual or protocol could address. Emergency meetings were called immediately with religious council members, government ministers, and security officials scrambling to develop a response to the unexplainable events.

How do you explain to a nation built on the absolute authority of Islamic law that a Christian prisoner sentenced to death had been supernaturally protected by his God? How do you maintain order when thousands of witnesses have seen their religious and governmental authority challenged by divine intervention?

The first priority was damage control. Within an hour of my miraculous deliverance, internet access was restricted throughout the kingdom and social media platforms were temporarily blocked. Government censors worked frantically to remove videos and photos that had already begun circulating online, but they were fighting a losing battle. Cell phone footage of the shattered sword, the supernatural light, and my liberation had already been uploaded to servers outside the country. Television and radio stations received immediate instructions to report that the execution had been postponed due to technical difficulties. No mention was to be made of any supernatural events or divine intervention. International news agencies were told that I had been granted a temporary reprieve pending further legal review. But these official explanations rang hollow to the thousands of people who had witnessed something that defied all natural explanation.

The governor himself didn’t know what to do with me. I was taken back into custody, but not to the same prison where I had been held before the execution. Instead, they placed me in a secure facility normally reserved for high-profile political prisoners, as if they were afraid that keeping me in a regular prison might result in further supernatural incidents. The guards assigned to watch me had not been present at the execution because those who had witnessed the miracle were deemed too psychologically affected to perform their duties effectively.

During my interrogation by a panel of religious and government officials, their questions revealed the depth of their confusion and fear. They wanted to know how I had orchestrated such an elaborate hoax. They demanded that I explain the technology I had used to create the blinding light and to shatter the executioner’s sword. When I told them simply that Jesus Christ had intervened to save my life, they became angry and accused me of blasphemy. But I could see the uncertainty in their eyes.

One religious official, a man who had personally signed my death warrant, asked me directly whether I believed that my God was more powerful than Allah. When I responded that Jesus Christ is the only true God and that he had demonstrated his authority over death itself, the room fell silent. These men who had built their entire worldview on the supremacy of Islam were now confronted with evidence that challenged everything they believed about spiritual authority and divine power.

Meanwhile, underground networks throughout Saudi Arabia were buzzing with eyewitness accounts of what had happened in the public square. Despite government attempts to suppress the story, word spread rapidly through informal channels. Christians who had been in hiding began sharing the news with fellow believers and Muslim families who had witnessed the event began quietly discussing among themselves what they had seen. Within 24 hours of my failed execution, believers across the Middle East knew that God had performed a modern-day miracle in Riyadh. Prayer networks in Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, and other countries began interceding for Saudi Arabia, believing that this supernatural intervention was the beginning of a great spiritual awakening in the kingdom. International Christian organizations that had been praying for religious freedom in Saudi Arabia saw this as a direct answer to decades of earnest supplication.

The response among ordinary Saudi citizens was more dramatic than the government had anticipated. Muslim families who had witnessed the execution began approaching Christians they knew, asking questions about Jesus and requesting explanations of what they had seen. Workers from the Philippines, India, and other countries who practice Christianity in secret suddenly found themselves being sought out by their Saudi neighbors and employers who wanted to understand more about this God who could protect his followers from death.

Young Muslims throughout the kingdom began openly questioning Islamic doctrine in ways that would have been unthinkable before. University students started searching online for Christian content using virtual private networks to bypass government censorship. Bookstores reported unusual requests for materials about Christianity even though such books were officially banned. Internet cafes noticed increased searches for terms related to Jesus Christ, Christian conversion, and religious freedom.

The ripple effects extended far beyond individual curiosity. Three of the guards who had been present at my execution came to secret Bible studies within the first month after the miracle. They approached Filipino Christian workers in their neighborhoods, explaining that they had witnessed something supernatural and needed to understand more about the God who could perform such wonders. These hardened security officers who had been trained to suppress religious dissent became some of our most dedicated new believers.

The executioner himself experienced the most dramatic transformation of all. Within two weeks of the failed execution, he made contact through intermediaries with Christian networks in Riyadh. The man whose career had been built on ending lives for religious and political crimes was now desperate to understand the God who had prevented him from taking mine. He described to Christian contacts how he had been unable to sleep since that day, haunted by the supernatural light and the voice that had declared me to be God’s beloved servant. His conversion process was gradual but profound. Through secret meetings with mature believers, he began studying the Bible and learning about Jesus’s message of forgiveness and redemption. The very man who had been prepared to behead me became a secret follower of Christ. Though his identity had to remain completely hidden due to the sensitivity of his former position, he provided invaluable insights into government persecution methods and helped our network understand how to better protect vulnerable believers.

Brother Ahmed’s family experienced an unexpected tragedy that became a catalyst for their own spiritual transformation. Unable to live with the guilt of his betrayal, Ahmed took his own life just 3 weeks after my miraculous deliverance. His suicide note, which was shared with me by his widow, expressed his overwhelming remorse for betraying the Christian community and his belief that God would never forgive him for what he had done. His death devastated his family, but also opened their hearts to the message of grace and forgiveness that Christianity offers.

Ahmed’s widow and children, consumed with grief and guilt by association, reached out to our underground network, seeking understanding and forgiveness. Through careful discipleship and patient love, his entire family came to faith in Christ. They became powerful witnesses within their community, sharing how the same God who had miraculously saved me had also forgiven their family for the betrayal that had led to my arrest. Their transformation demonstrated that no sin is beyond the reach of God’s grace and redemption.

Government officials whose family members had witnessed the execution also began experiencing unexpected changes in their homes. Wives and children who had seen the miracle started asking questions about Christianity that made their powerful husbands and fathers uncomfortable. Some of these officials found themselves in the unprecedented position of having to forbid their own family members from discussing what they had witnessed, creating tension in homes that had previously been unified in their Islamic faith.

The supernatural protection that I experienced didn’t end with my deliverance from execution. In the months that followed, authorities seemed afraid to take aggressive action against me. When they did attempt to arrest me again, their operations failed in ways that defied explanation. Equipment malfunctioned, witnesses disappeared, and evidence was mysteriously lost. It became clear that God had placed a supernatural hedge of protection around me that made normal persecution tactics ineffective.

This divine protection allowed me to expand our underground ministry in ways that would have been impossible before. The miracle had given us credibility and boldness that transformed our approach to evangelism and discipleship. Where we had once operated in fear and secrecy, we now functioned with supernatural confidence and divine protection. Our house church network grew from 47 believers to over 200 within the first 6 months after my failed execution with new groups starting in cities across the kingdom.

Six years have passed since that miraculous day in the public square and the impact continues to ripple throughout Saudi Arabia in ways that no human planning could have orchestrated. Conservative estimates suggest that more than 500 people have committed their lives to Jesus Christ as a direct result of witnessing or hearing about the supernatural intervention that saved my life. But I believe the actual number is much higher because many new believers remain completely underground known only to God and perhaps one or two trusted friends who led them to faith.

The underground church network has expanded beyond anything we could have imagined during those early years of fearful secrecy. We now have active house church groups in 15 different Saudi cities from Jeddah on the Red Sea coast to Dammam in the eastern province. Each group maintains strict security protocols, but they also operate with a boldness that comes from knowing that our God can protect his people even in the most hostile environments.

Young Muslims who once would never have questioned their inherited faith are now openly discussing Christianity with trusted friends and seeking out believers who can answer their spiritual questions. The most remarkable transformation has occurred among the youth of Saudi Arabia. A generation that grew up with strict Islamic teachings and limited exposure to other religious ideas has been profoundly impacted by social media accounts of the miracle that saved my life. Despite government censorship, video footage and eyewitness testimonies continue to circulate through encrypted messaging apps and underground networks. Young people who watched these videos began asking questions that their parents and religious teachers couldn’t answer satisfactorily.

Universities across the kingdom have become unexpected centers of spiritual awakening. Students studying abroad have encountered Christianity in free countries and returned to Saudi Arabia with Bibles and Christian literature hidden in their luggage. These materials are copied and shared through elaborate networks that rival political resistance movements in their sophistication and security. Study groups that ostensibly focus on English language learning or western literature have become venues for discrete discussions about Christian theology and biblical teachings.

Secret Christian bookstores now operate in three major cities disguised as shops selling other types of literature but providing Bibles and Christian resources to a growing network of seekers and believers. The owners of these establishments take enormous risks knowing that discovery would mean imprisonment or death. But they are motivated by the same supernatural boldness that has characterized our movement since my miraculous deliverance. They report steady increases in demand for Christian materials with customers coming from all levels of Saudi society.

The government has been forced to adapt its persecution strategies in response to the growth of Christianity in the kingdom. Rather than conducting high-profile public arrests that might create more martyrs and generate additional sympathy for the Christian cause, they have shifted toward more subtle forms of harassment and control. Christians are monitored through electronic surveillance, their employment opportunities are limited and their children face discrimination in schools, but the days of dramatic public executions have largely ended.

This shift in government tactics, while still creating real hardships for believers, has also created space for our ministry to flourish in ways that were previously impossible. We have been able to establish more permanent meeting locations, develop comprehensive discipleship programs, and even begin training new pastors who can lead their own congregations. The network that began with fearful gatherings of eight or fewer people now includes congregations of 30 to 40 believers who meet regularly for worship, Bible study, and mutual support.

The personal cost of this ministry continues to be significant for my own life. I remain separated from my biological family who still consider my conversion to Christianity to be a source of shame and dishonor. My mother has never spoken to me since the day my father threw me out of our home and my siblings have been forbidden from having any contact with me. The pain of this rejection never completely goes away. But I have gained thousands of spiritual children across the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia who have become my true family in every sense that matters.

My health bears the ongoing effects of the torture I endured during my imprisonment before the failed execution. The sleep deprivation, extreme temperatures, and physical abuse have left me with chronic pain and digestive problems that require constant management. But I have also experienced miraculous healings at crucial moments when my physical condition threatened to prevent me from continuing the ministry. God has sustained my body just as he protected my life, providing strength when human endurance reaches its limits.

The international impact of my testimony has extended far beyond what I could have anticipated. Believers in China, North Korea, Iran, and other countries where Christians face severe persecution have drawn courage from this story of supernatural deliverance. I receive messages through secure channels from underground pastors who tell me that accounts of the miracle in Riyadh have strengthened their own faith and resolve during times of intense pressure and suffering.

Christian organizations worldwide have begun focusing increased attention and resources on Saudi Arabia, believing that the supernatural intervention in my case signals God’s intention to bring revival to the Arabian Peninsula. Prayer networks spanning dozens of countries now intercede specifically for the kingdom, asking God to continue the work that began with my miraculous protection from execution. Fundraising efforts have provided financial support for our underground operations and for believers who have lost employment due to their conversion to Christianity.

Book publishers and documentary filmmakers have approached me through intermediaries seeking permission to share my story with broader international audiences. While I must be extremely careful about security considerations that could endanger other believers, I have cooperated with several projects that I believe will encourage persecuted Christians globally and inform free nations about the reality of religious oppression in Saudi Arabia. These media efforts have reached millions of people who had never considered the challenges facing Christians in Muslim-majority countries.

The present day reality of my life involves constant vigilance balanced with supernatural peace. I still live with the knowledge that government surveillance monitors my activities and that my safety depends ultimately on God’s continued protection rather than human security measures. Every day brings new opportunities to share the gospel with seekers who have heard about the miracle and want to learn more about Jesus. But it also brings awareness that each conversation could potentially lead to renewed persecution for everyone involved.

Training the next generation of secret pastors and evangelists has become one of my primary focuses. Young believers who came to faith after witnessing or hearing about the miracle possess a boldness and confidence that amazes me. They have never known a time when our underground church operated purely from fear because they entered the movement during a period when God’s supernatural protection was clearly evident. This foundation of faith gives them courage to take evangelistic risks that older believers might avoid.

Every day I see new evidence that Jesus is moving powerfully throughout the Muslim world. Reports reach me of similar supernatural interventions occurring in other countries, of dreams and visions drawing Muslims to faith in Christ, and of underground revival movements growing in nations where Christianity has been suppressed for generations. The miracle that saved my life in Riyadh appears to be part of a much larger work that God is accomplishing across the Middle East and beyond.

I’m asking you just as someone who has seen God’s power firsthand, will you pray for the believers who are still suffering for Jesus in Saudi Arabia? Will you remember the young converts who risk everything to follow Christ in a nation where such faith can cost them their families, their livelihoods, and even their lives? Will you intercede for government officials whose hearts need to be softened toward religious freedom? And for Muslim families who are beginning to question their inherited beliefs?

The same Jesus who stopped that blade above my neck is the same Jesus who can transform your life today. When you face your own impossible situation, when human solutions seem inadequate and earthly hope appears lost, remember this. Nothing is too hard for Jesus. The God who performed miracles in biblical times is still performing miracles today. And he is still calling ordinary people to extraordinary faith that can change nations and transform cultures.

Death holds no fear for those who truly know Jesus, and neither should life. Whether God calls us to live for him or die for him, we serve a savior who has conquered both death and hell. Every day that he gives us breath is another opportunity to advance his kingdom and to love others with the same supernatural love that he has shown to us.