My name is Musa. I’m 34 years old. And on September 8th, 2017, I was tied to railway tracks in Saudi Arabia for refusing to deny Jesus Christ. A freight train was bearing down on me at full speed. That should have been the end of my story, but Jesus had other plans. Let me tell you how I got there.

I was born into a world where questioning Allah was unthinkable. My father served as the imam at our local mosque in Riyadh and our house echoed with his deep voice reciting the Quran every morning before dawn. My mother wrapped herself in black from head to toe, emerging only to enforce Islamic traditions with the fierce devotion of someone whose entire identity depended on our family’s religious reputation. Five times a day, the call to prayer would summon me to my knees, and I would press my forehead against the prayer rug, reciting verses I had memorized since childhood.

For 28 years, I lived this rhythm without question. The mosque became my second home, where I spent hours memorizing Arabic verses and learning the intricate rules that governed every aspect of our lives. My father would beam with pride when religious leaders praised my devotion and knowledge of Islamic law. I was the son he could present to the community as proof of his spiritual leadership. My mother would cook elaborate meals for visiting clerics, always making sure I was present to demonstrate my religious commitment and proper upbringing.

But Allah works in mysterious ways and sometimes he uses the most unexpected people to plant seeds of truth. In 2015, our family hired a construction worker from the Philippines to renovate our courtyard. His name was Roberto. And while my father assumed he was Muslim, like most foreign workers in our employ, I noticed something different about him. During his lunch breaks, I would catch glimpses of him sitting quietly in the corner of our garden, his lips moving in what I assumed was prayer. But his demeanor carried a peace I had never experienced in all my years of Islamic worship.

Curiosity overcame caution one afternoon when I approached Roberto during his break. I expected to find him facing Mecca, but instead discovered him reading a small worn book written in English. When he quickly closed it and looked up with startled eyes, I realized this was no Quran. My heart began racing as I recognized the forbidden text he was holding. It was a Bible. In Saudi Arabia, possessing such a book could result in imprisonment, deportation, or worse.

Roberto’s fear was obvious as he stammered an apology. But something inside me urged him to continue. Over the following weeks, during stolen moments when my family was away, this humble Filipino man began sharing stories about someone called Jesus. He spoke of a God who loved unconditionally, who forgave sins completely, and who offered salvation as a free gift rather than something earned through endless religious works. These conversations happened in whispered tones behind the garden wall, always with one eye watching for my father’s return.

The more Roberto shared, the more questions erupted in my mind. How could God become man? Why would the creator of the universe die for his creation? What did it mean that Jesus rose from the dead? These concepts contradicted everything I had been taught about Allah’s nature and the path to paradise. Yet something deep in my soul resonated with Roberto’s words about grace, forgiveness, and eternal life through faith alone.

Roberto eventually connected me with an underground network of believers who secretly distributed Christian materials throughout the kingdom. Through careful coordination, I obtained my own copy of the Bible, which I hid behind loose stones in the wall of my bedroom. Night after night, I would wait until the household was asleep, then carefully retrieve the forbidden book and read by dim lamplight. The Gospel of John became my obsession as I wrestled with Jesus’s claims about being the way, the truth, and the life.

For months, I lived in spiritual torment. Every morning I would perform my Islamic prayers with growing emptiness while every evening I would devour the words of Christ with increasing hunger. The contrast between earning Allah’s favor through perfect religious performance and receiving Jesus’s love through simple faith created a war in my heart that threatened to tear me apart. I found myself praying to both Allah and Jesus, uncertain which voice I was hearing in response.

The breaking point came during Ramadan in 2016. As I sat in the mosque listening to my father preach about submission to Allah’s will, Jesus’s words from Matthew echoed in my mind about his yoke being easy and his burden being light. The weight of Islamic law that had pressed down on me for decades suddenly felt unbearable compared to the freedom Christ offered. I realized I could no longer serve two masters.

That night, alone in my room with the Bible open before me, I made the most dangerous decision of my life. I knelt on the same prayer rug where I had worshiped Allah for years and whispered the words that would forever change my destiny. I asked Jesus Christ to forgive my sins, to become my Lord and Savior, and to transform my heart according to his will. The moment those words left my lips, an indescribable peace flooded my soul. For the first time in my life, I felt truly free.

But freedom came with a terrifying price. I knew that revealing my conversion would destroy my family, end my life in Saudi Arabia, and possibly result in my death. So, I chose to live a double life, maintaining my Islamic appearance while nurturing my Christian faith in secret. Every day became a careful performance. Praying in the mosque while my heart worshiped Jesus, reciting Quranic verses while longing to share the gospel, and smiling at religious discussions while my soul ached to speak truth.

Have you ever had to hide something that meant everything to you? The weight of that secret nearly crushed me, but it also taught me the true cost of following Christ. I was discovering that knowing Jesus as savior was worth any sacrifice, even if that sacrifice might ultimately be my life.

Living a double life became my daily torment and my deepest joy all at once. Every morning I would wake before dawn to perform the required Islamic prayers alongside my father, bowing toward Mecca while my heart was crying out to Jesus. The words of the Quran felt like ash in my mouth, but I recited them perfectly to maintain my facade. My father would nod approvingly as I demonstrated my memorization of Arabic verses, never knowing that my mind was simultaneously meditating on Psalm 23 or Romans 8.

The guilt of this deception weighed heavily on me. Yet I knew that revealing the truth would shatter everything my family held sacred. During mosque attendance on Fridays, I would sit in the front row beside my father, the imam, while he delivered sermons about Islamic devotion and submission to Allah. The entire congregation looked to our family as the spiritual standard for the community. Inside, I was screaming to tell them about the love of Christ, about the grace that had transformed my heart, about the salvation that was freely available through Jesus. But I remained silent, nodding at appropriate moments and responding with the required phrases, all while praying internally for wisdom and strength to endure this impossible situation.

The worst moments came when my father would praise my religious dedication to visiting clerics and community leaders. He would speak proudly of my Quranic knowledge and my apparent commitment to Islamic law, using me as an example for other young men in our mosque. These conversations felt like daggers in my heart because I knew I was living a lie that brought honor to my father while betraying everything I now believed to be true. Yet each time I considered confessing, I would imagine the devastation it would bring to my mother, the shame it would heap upon my father’s ministry, and the danger it would place upon our entire family.

My younger brother, Ahmed, began noticing changes in my behavior that made me increasingly nervous. He would comment on my distracted demeanor during prayers or question why I spent so much time alone in my room reading. I tried to dismiss his observations as imagination, but Ahmed had always been perceptive beyond his years. He started paying closer attention to my activities, and I could feel his suspicious eyes following me whenever I moved through the house.

The Christian fellowship I craved came through secret meetings with Roberto and a small group of underground believers who gathered in hidden locations throughout Riyadh. These gatherings became the lifeline that sustained my faith during the darkest periods of isolation. We would meet in basements, abandoned buildings, or remote desert locations, always changing our meeting places and times to avoid detection. During these precious hours, I could finally sing worship songs to Jesus, pray openly in his name, and study the Bible with other believers who understood the risks we all faced.

But my growing boldness in faith began manifesting in subtle ways that I failed to recognize as dangerous. I started questioning certain Islamic teachings during family discussions, asking theological questions that seemed innocent but revealed my shifting worldview. When my mother would speak about earning paradise through good works, I would wonder aloud about the role of divine grace in salvation. When conversation turned to Islamic views of Jesus as merely a prophet, I would probe deeper into his nature and claims. These seemingly academic discussions aroused suspicion among family members who knew my traditional compliance with Islamic doctrine.

The fatal mistake happened on a Thursday evening in August 2017. I had returned home from a particularly powerful underground worship service where we had studied Romans chapter 8 about our identity as children of God. My heart was so full of joy and peace that I failed to exercise my usual caution when hiding my Bible. Instead of carefully concealing it behind the loose stones in my bedroom wall, I carelessly placed it under my mattress before rushing to join my family for dinner.

Ahmed had been watching me more closely than I realized, and my hurried behavior that evening triggered his curiosity. After the family retired for the night, he crept into my room while I was in the bathroom performing the required pre-sleep prayers. When I returned, I found him sitting on my bed with the Bible open in his hands, his face pale with shock and horror. The look in his eyes told me that my carefully constructed double life had just crumbled into ruins.

The confrontation that followed was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Ahmed’s initial whisper of accusation quickly escalated into shouting as the reality of what he had discovered overwhelmed his ability to process it quietly. He accused me of betraying our family, our faith, and our entire community. His voice carried throughout the house, waking our parents and bringing them rushing to my room, where they found Ahmed clutching the forbidden book like evidence of my treachery.

My mother’s scream of anguish pierced the night air as she saw the Bible in Ahmed’s hands. She collapsed against the doorframe, wailing about the shame I had brought upon our family name. My father’s face transformed from confusion to rage as he realized the implications of what Ahmed had uncovered. The man who had spent his entire life preaching Islamic devotion was confronting the devastating reality that his eldest son had abandoned Islam for the hated religion of Christianity.

The scene that unfolded in our home that night was chaos beyond description. My mother alternated between pleading with me to deny what they had found and cursing the day I was born. Ahmed stood like a prosecuting attorney, demanding that I explain how long I had been living this lie and who had corrupted me with Christian poison. My father remained ominously silent, his jaw clenched and his hands trembling with barely controlled fury as he stared at the Bible that represented everything he had taught me to despise.

When my father finally spoke, his voice carried the authority of an imam and the wounded rage of a betrayed parent. He demanded that I immediately renounce Christianity, burn the Bible, and publicly confess my sin to restore our family’s honor. He spoke of the shame I had brought upon his ministry and the devastating impact my apostasy would have on our community standing. But most painfully, he spoke of how my betrayal had broken his heart and destroyed his trust in the son he had raised to follow in his footsteps.

I stood in that room surrounded by the three people I loved most in the world, knowing that my next words would either save or destroy everything. The weight of their expectations pressed down on me like a physical force. But stronger still was the presence of Jesus that I felt in my heart. Despite the fear, despite the love I had for my family, despite the consequences I knew would follow, I could not and would not deny the one who had saved my soul.

Looking directly into my father’s eyes, I spoke the words that would seal my fate.

“I cannot renounce Jesus Christ because he is the truth, the way, and the life. He died for my sins and rose again to give me eternal life. I love you all, but I love him more.”

The silence that followed my declaration felt like death itself had entered our home. My father’s face turned ashen as the full weight of my words settled upon him. In our culture, having a son convert to Christianity was worse than having no son at all. It meant the complete destruction of our family’s reputation, the end of his respected position as imam, and social exile from the only community we had ever known. My mother’s wailing resumed with renewed intensity as she realized I was not going to recant, and Ahmed stared at me as if I had become a stranger wearing his brother’s face.

What happened next moved with the terrible efficiency of a judicial proceeding. My father immediately called an emergency family meeting, summoning my uncles, cousins, and other male relatives to our home in the middle of the night. Within two hours, our living room was filled with stern-faced men who had served as the religious and social authorities in our extended family for generations. My uncle Hassan, who held a prominent position as a religious leader in our district, assumed the role of chief prosecutor in what became an informal trial for my soul.

They seated me in the center of the room like a defendant facing judgment, while the family patriarchs formed a semicircle around me. For three hours, they took turns pleading, threatening, and demanding that I abandon what they called the foreign corruption that had poisoned my mind. They spoke of the shame I was bringing upon generations of faithful Muslim ancestors, the destruction I was causing to my father’s ministry, and the eternal damnation that awaited me if I persisted in following the false prophet Jesus.

Uncle Hassan presented their ultimatum with the authority of someone who had never been challenged on religious matters. I had 24 hours to publicly renounce Christianity, destroy any Christian materials in my possession, and make a formal confession of my sin at the mosque during Friday prayers. If I complied, they would begin the process of spiritual rehabilitation to restore me to proper Islamic faith. If I refused, they would have no choice but to report my apostasy to the local Saudi prince who governed our region.

The mention of the prince sent ice through my veins. Prince Abdullah was known throughout our province as a man who dealt harshly with any challenge to Islamic authority. Stories circulated about religious dissidents who had disappeared after being summoned to his compound, about public executions for apostasy, and about his particular hatred for those who abandoned Islam for Christianity. My family was essentially threatening to hand me over to a man whose reputation for brutality was legendary.

But even as fear gripped my heart, I felt the strengthening presence of Jesus surrounding me like an invisible shield. The words of Matthew 10 echoed in my mind where Christ warned that following him would bring division even within families, but that those who acknowledged him before men would be acknowledged before his father in heaven. I knew that denying Jesus to save my earthly life would cost me my eternal soul.

When they demanded my answer, I looked around the room at these men I had respected and loved my entire life. I saw the genuine anguish in my father’s eyes, the desperation in my uncle’s expression, and the confusion of cousins who could not understand how their devout relative had become what they considered a heretic. Speaking as gently as I could while maintaining absolute conviction, I told them that I could not and would not deny Jesus Christ, even if it cost me everything.

The explosion of anger that followed my refusal was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Uncle Hassan declared me dead to the family, cursing my name and forbidding anyone to speak with me again. My father, broken by my final rejection of his authority, walked out of the room without another word. The other relatives followed, leaving me alone with my mother and brother, both of whom looked at me as if I were already a ghost.

True to their threat, my father contacted Prince Abdullah’s compound the next morning. By noon, I received an official summons to appear before the prince at sunset to answer charges of apostasy and religious subversion. The formal document bearing the prince’s official seal stated that I was suspected of abandoning Islam and embracing Christianity, crimes that carried severe penalties under Saudi religious law. I was instructed to bring any religious materials in my possession and to prepare to account for my beliefs before the prince’s religious council.

That afternoon became a meditation on mortality as I realized this might be my last day on earth. I spent hours in prayer, reading my Bible one final time before the inevitable confrontation. The words of Psalm 23 brought particular comfort as I prepared to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, trusting that Jesus would be with me even in the darkest moments ahead. I prayed for my family, for strength to remain faithful, and for God’s will to be done regardless of the outcome.

As sunset approached, a black vehicle arrived at our home to transport me to the prince’s compound. The driver, one of the prince’s personal guards, treated me with the cold efficiency reserved for condemned criminals. During the silent ride through Riyadh’s darkening streets, I watched familiar landmarks pass by, wondering if I would ever see them again. The guard made no conversation, but his occasional glances in the rear view mirror carried a mixture of curiosity and pity for someone so young who had made such a fatal choice.

Prince Abdullah’s compound loomed like a fortress against the desert sky, its high walls and armed guards emphasizing the absolute power held by the man within. As we passed through multiple security checkpoints, I felt the weight of entering a place where my life hung entirely in the hands of someone who viewed my faith as the ultimate betrayal of everything he existed to protect.

The prince received me in his formal audience chamber, a magnificent room decorated with Islamic calligraphy and expensive carpets. He sat behind an imposing desk while religious advisers flanked him on both sides, their stern faces reflecting their role as judges of my spiritual condition. Prince Abdullah himself was a man in his 50s, impeccably dressed in traditional Saudi robes with intelligent eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul. His voice carried absolute authority as he addressed me by name and formally stated the charges against me.

He spoke of the serious nature of apostasy, the danger it posed to Islamic society, and the penalties prescribed for those who abandoned the true faith. But then, showing what I initially mistook for mercy, he offered me one final opportunity to recant my Christian beliefs and return to Islam with only minor punishment. The prince’s offer was simple: publicly renounce Christianity, declare Jesus to be merely a prophet rather than the son of God, and submit to six months of Islamic re-education. In exchange, he would show leniency and allow me to remain in Saudi Arabia with my family. He presented this as an act of generous mercy that I would be foolish to refuse.

Standing before this man who held the power of life and death over me, I felt the same peace that had sustained me since my conversion. I looked directly into Prince Abdullah’s eyes and spoke the words that would seal my fate.

“Your highness, I cannot and will not deny Jesus Christ. He is not merely a prophet, but the son of God who died for my sins and rose again to give me eternal life. Even if you kill my body, you cannot touch my soul which belongs to him.”

The prince’s expression hardened as he realized that neither threats nor mercy would move me from my position. He had dealt with religious dissidents before, but my calm certainty seemed to unsettle him in a way he had not expected. After consulting briefly with his advisers, he announced that since I had chosen to reject both Islam and his mercy, I would face the consequences that befitted such treachery.

Now ask yourself this question. When everything you hold dear hangs in the balance, what would you be willing to sacrifice for the truth that lives in your heart?

Prince Abdullah’s final judgment came with the cold finality of a death sentence. He had chosen what he called a fitting punishment for one who betrays the faith of his fathers. At dawn on September 8th, 2017, I would be taken to a remote railway crossing 50 km outside Riyadh where freight trains carried oil shipments across the desert. There, bound to the tracks, I would face the choice between renouncing Christ and meeting my death beneath the wheels of an oncoming train. The prince spoke of this as divine justice, allowing Allah himself to determine my fate based on the sincerity of my faith.

The night before my execution passed in a cold detention cell beneath the prince’s compound. I was given no food, only water, as the prince wanted me to approach death with a clear mind, unclouded by physical comfort. The stone walls seemed to close in around me as I contemplated the morning that awaited. But even in that darkness, I felt the presence of Jesus more powerfully than ever before. I spent those hours reciting every Bible verse I had memorized, singing worship songs in whispered tones, and preparing my heart for what I believed would be my entrance into eternity.

As dawn approached, I could hear the compound awakening around me. Guards conversed in low voices outside my cell, their words carrying the subdued tone of men preparing for an execution. When they finally came for me, their faces showed a mixture of duty and discomfort. Even these hardened soldiers seemed affected by the prospect of binding a young man to railway tracks for the crime of loving Jesus.

The journey to the execution site took place in the gray light of early morning when the desert was still cool and the sun had not yet begun its merciless assault on the landscape. I sat between two guards in the back of a military vehicle, my hands bound with rope, watching the familiar cityscape of Riyadh disappear behind us. Prince Abdullah rode in a separate vehicle ahead of us, accompanied by several religious officials who would serve as witnesses to what he intended as an object lesson for any other potential apostates.

The railway crossing where they brought me was a desolate place where the freight line cut through empty desert on its way to the oil refineries near the coast. The tracks stretched endlessly in both directions, disappearing into heat mirages on the horizon. This was not a place where passenger trains carried families and workers, but where massive freight locomotives pulled dozens of cars loaded with crude oil at tremendous speeds. The prince had chosen this location specifically because the heavy freight trains could not stop quickly once they came into view.

Prince Abdullah emerged from his vehicle with the bearing of a man conducting official state business. He surveyed the scene with satisfaction, noting the isolation of the location and the perfect straightness of the tracks that would give the approaching train engineer clear visibility of what was about to unfold. Several of his religious advisers spread prayer rugs on the sandy ground nearby, preparing to offer morning prayers while they waited for the train that would serve as Allah’s instrument of judgment.

The binding process began with mechanical efficiency as the guards forced me to lie across the steel rails. They used thick rope to secure my wrists to one rail and my ankles to the other, ensuring that I could not free myself regardless of how desperately I might struggle. The metal felt cold against my back, and I could feel the slight vibrations that indicated the approach of the morning freight train still miles away in the distance.

Prince Abdullah stood over me as the final knots were tightened, offering one last opportunity for me to save my life by renouncing Christ. His voice carried genuine puzzlement as he spoke about my foolishness in choosing death over the simple words that would set me free. He could not comprehend how any rational person would die for what he considered a foreign delusion when salvation was as easy as declaring loyalty to Islam.

But as I lay there bound to those tracks, feeling the growing vibrations beneath my body, I experienced a peace that surpassed all understanding. The verses from Philippians chapter 4 filled my mind, reminding me that the peace of God guards the hearts and minds of those who trust in Christ Jesus. I was no longer afraid of death because I knew with absolute certainty that dying meant going home to be with my savior.

The sound of the approaching freight train began as a distant rumble that gradually grew into a thunderous roar echoing across the desert landscape. The engineer’s horn blasted repeatedly as the massive locomotive came into view: a steel monster pulling dozens of oil cars at speeds approaching 90 km per hour. Prince Abdullah and his entourage stepped back from the tracks, positioning themselves safely away from the coming impact while maintaining clear sight lines to witness my final moments.

As the train drew closer, I could see the engineer frantically pulling the horn cord and applying the brakes. But the laws of physics made stopping impossible. The massive weight and momentum of a fully loaded oil train required several kilometers to come to a complete halt, and the engineer had perhaps 30 seconds of visibility before impact. I watched his face through the locomotive’s windscreen as he realized what was happening and fought desperately with controls that could not save the man tied to his tracks.

In those final moments before impact, Prince Abdullah shouted over the deafening noise of the approaching train, demanding to know where my Jesus was now. His voice carried triumph mixed with genuine curiosity about whether my faith would hold in the face of imminent death. The religious officials had stopped their prayers to watch the culmination of what they believed was divine justice being served upon a heretic who had rejected the true faith.

But as that massive locomotive bore down upon me with unstoppable force, I experienced something that defied every law of physics and challenged every assumption about the nature of reality. A brilliant white light suddenly surrounded the railway tracks, brighter than the desert sun, but somehow not blinding to look upon directly. The light carried within it a presence so powerful and loving that it drove all fear from my heart and filled me with perfect peace.

The train’s brakes engaged with a screaming of metal against metal that should have been physically impossible. The massive locomotive, which moments before had been hurtling toward me with deadly momentum, began slowing as if an invisible hand had reached down from heaven to intervene in the laws of motion. At the same moment, I felt supernatural strength flowing through my body. Strength that snapped the thick ropes binding my wrists and ankles as easily as breaking spider webs. I rolled clear of the tracks just as the train passed over the spot where I had been lying, the massive wheels missing my body by mere inches. The locomotive continued for another 100 meters before coming to a complete stop, something the engineer later swore was impossible given the train’s speed and weight.

Behind me, Prince Abdullah and his witnesses stood frozen in shock and terror, their faces pale with the realization that they had just witnessed something that contradicted everything they believed about the nature of God and reality. In that moment of supernatural deliverance, I knew with absolute certainty that the same Jesus who had calmed storms and raised the dead had reached down from heaven to save my life. The God who had delivered Daniel from the lion’s den and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace had proven once again that no weapon formed against his children shall prosper.

Prince Abdullah fell to his knees in the sand, his voice shaking as he demanded an explanation for what he had just witnessed. But I knew that no explanation would satisfy a heart that was not ready to receive the truth about the power and love of Jesus Christ.

The immediate aftermath of the railway miracle left everyone present in a state of shock that bordered on terror. Prince Abdullah remained on his knees in the sand, his entire worldview shattered by what he had witnessed. The religious officials who had come to observe divine justice being served upon a heretic found themselves face to face with a supernatural intervention that challenged everything they believed about Allah’s will and the nature of spiritual authority. The train engineer climbed down from his locomotive, trembling and repeatedly asking how his massive freight train had stopped so suddenly when every law of physics said it was impossible.

For several minutes, no one spoke. The only sounds were the settling metal of the cooling train and the whispered prayers of the religious officials who were trying to process what they had experienced. Prince Abdullah’s guards stood at attention, but their usual confidence had evaporated, replaced by the uncertain demeanor of men who had just witnessed something beyond their understanding or training.

I stood beside the railway tracks, still feeling the supernatural strength that had broken my bonds, and the overwhelming presence of Christ that continued to surround me like an invisible shield. The ropes that had bound me lay severed on the ground, cut as cleanly as if sliced by the sharpest blade. Yet no earthly weapon had touched them. My body showed no signs of injury, despite having been positioned for certain death beneath tons of moving steel.

Prince Abdullah was the first to find his voice, though it shook with an emotion I had never heard from him before. He demanded to know how I had escaped, what power had intervened, and why Allah had not allowed justice to be served upon an apostate. But even as he asked these questions, I could see in his eyes that he already suspected the answer. The supernatural light that had surrounded the tracks had not come from any earthly source, and the impossible stopping of the freight train could not be explained by mechanical failure or human intervention.

I looked down at this powerful man who had held my life in his hands just moments before and spoke with a boldness that surprised even me. I told him that the same Jesus he had mocked and rejected had just demonstrated his power over life and death, over the laws of physics, and over the authority of earthly princes. I explained that Christ had not saved me to prove my superiority over Islam, but to demonstrate his love, even for those who persecute his followers.

The prince’s response revealed a heart beginning to crack under the weight of undeniable truth. He asked me to explain how Jesus could have such power if he was merely a man who died on a cross 2,000 years ago. For the first time since I had known him, Prince Abdullah was asking genuine questions rather than issuing authoritative statements. The railway miracle had created an opening in his heart that all his years of Islamic education had failed to seal.

Over the following weeks, something unprecedented began to happen. Prince Abdullah requested private meetings with me, initially under the pretense of investigating the railway incident, but gradually evolving into genuine spiritual discussions. The man who had ordered my execution became a secret seeker, asking detailed questions about Christian doctrine, the nature of salvation, and the claims of Christ. His political position prevented him from showing any public interest in Christianity, but privately he was wrestling with the implications of what he had witnessed.

These clandestine conversations took place in secure locations away from his compound where the prince could ask questions without fear of being overheard by his advisers or subordinates. I watched this powerful man’s facade slowly crumble as he struggled with the reality that his entire belief system had been challenged by an undeniable supernatural event. He spoke of sleepless nights plagued by dreams about the railway crossing, of growing doubts about Islamic teachings he had never questioned before, and of an inexplicable hunger to understand more about the Jesus who had saved my life.

The transformation was gradual but unmistakable. Prince Abdullah began asking about forgiveness, about the possibility of redemption for someone who had spent his life persecuting believers, and about what it would mean to follow Christ in a position of Islamic authority. His questions revealed a deep conviction of sin and a growing recognition that the power he had witnessed at the railway could only come from the true God.

6 months after the railway incident, in a secret meeting in a remote desert location, Prince Abdullah prayed to receive Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. The moment was surreal beyond description. A Saudi prince who had ordered my death was now kneeling beside me in the sand, confessing his sins to the same Jesus he had once rejected and asking for the salvation that only comes through faith in Christ.

But our lives were not the only ones affected by the railway miracle. Word of the impossible incident had spread through whispered conversations and rumors throughout our region. The official story maintained that there had been a mechanical failure that caused the train to stop, but too many people had heard firsthand accounts from those who were present. The underground Christian community saw the event as confirmation of God’s protection over his people, while many Muslims began questioning whether the power they had heard about could truly come from Allah.

My own family remained torn between denial and confusion about what had transpired at the railway crossing. My mother struggled to reconcile her love for me with her belief that I had embraced a false religion, while the undeniable fact that I had survived what should have been certain death challenged her certainty about divine disapproval of my faith. My father’s position as imam became increasingly difficult as community members asked him to explain how Allah could have allowed a Christian to escape such clear judgment.

My brother Ahmed, who had discovered my Bible and triggered the chain of events leading to my near execution, was perhaps the most deeply affected by the railway miracle. The guilt of knowing that his actions had nearly resulted in my death was compounded by his inability to explain how I had survived. He began asking theological questions that revealed his own growing doubts about the certainty of Islamic teachings.

The ripple effects extended far beyond our immediate family and community. Reports of the railway incident reached other regions of Saudi Arabia where secret believers found new courage to share their faith despite the risks. The story became a source of hope for persecuted Christians throughout the Middle East, demonstrating that God’s power was greater than the authority of earthly rulers who opposed the gospel.

However, the miracle also attracted unwanted attention from higher levels of government authority. Religious officials in Riyadh began investigating the incident, concerned about the implications of supernatural events that seemed to validate Christian claims. Intelligence services started monitoring both Prince Abdullah and me more closely, suspecting that the railway incident might be part of a larger Christian conspiracy to undermine Islamic authority in the kingdom.

The increased scrutiny made our ministry efforts more dangerous but also more urgent. Prince Abdullah, despite his new faith, remained in his position of authority where he could provide protection and resources for underground Christian activities. His conversion had given us an unexpected ally in a position of significant influence. But it also created new risks as his behavior began to change in subtle ways that might eventually arouse suspicion among his associates.

Look inside your own heart right now and consider how God might be preparing unexpected allies for his kingdom work in places where you least expect to find them. The same Jesus who transformed a persecuting prince into a secret believer continues to work miracles in the most unlikely circumstances, using even opposition and persecution to advance his eternal purposes.

The railway miracle had taught us that no human authority can ultimately stand against the purposes of God. But it had also shown us that divine intervention often comes with increased responsibility to share the hope we have received with others who desperately need to encounter the same transforming power of Christ.

Today, 7 years after that freight train should have ended my life, I stand before you as living proof that the same Jesus who walked on water and raised the dead continues to work miracles in our modern world. The railway crossing that was meant to be my graveyard became the launching point for a ministry that has reached thousands of souls across the Middle East and beyond. What Satan intended for destruction God transformed into a testimony of his infinite power and love.

Prince Abdullah, the man who ordered my execution, has become one of the most effective financial supporters of Christian ministry in the Arabian Peninsula. His conversion remains a closely guarded secret known only to a small circle of trusted believers, but his influence has been instrumental in protecting and funding underground church networks throughout Saudi Arabia. The wealth and authority he once used to persecute Christians now serves to advance the very gospel he once sought to destroy.

Through secure channels and carefully planned operations, he has funded the translation and distribution of thousands of Bibles, supported the families of imprisoned believers, and provided safe houses for converts fleeing persecution. The former prince’s transformation illustrates the radical nature of God’s grace in ways that continue to amaze me. This man who once viewed Christianity as a threat to Islamic civilization now studies the Bible with the same intensity he once devoted to Islamic law. Our weekly discipleship meetings, conducted in secure locations away from government surveillance, have become precious times of spiritual growth and strategic planning for kingdom advancement. He often speaks of feeling like the Apostle Paul, overwhelmed by the mercy of Christ towards someone who had formerly blasphemed and persecuted the church.

The underground church network that emerged following the railway miracle has grown beyond anything I could have imagined. What began as secret meetings among a handful of believers has expanded into a carefully organized movement spanning multiple cities across the kingdom. We estimate that over 300 Saudi nationals have come to faith in Christ through direct connections to our testimony ministry, with many more influenced through the ripple effects of changed lives and shared stories.

These new believers come from every level of Saudi society. We have welcomed wealthy businessmen whose hearts were softened by hearing about supernatural intervention, university students whose intellectual questions found answers in the gospel, and working-class families whose exposure to Christian foreign workers opened doors for deeper spiritual conversations. Each conversion carries significant risk but also demonstrates the irresistible power of God’s love to penetrate even the most resistant cultural barriers.

The personal cost of this ministry continues to be substantial. My immediate family remains divided, with some members gradually showing openness to the gospel while others have hardened their hearts in response to the undeniable evidence of God’s intervention in my life. My father lost his position as imam when community pressure made his continued leadership untenable given his son’s public apostasy. My mother still grieves what she considers the loss of her eldest son to foreign influence, though I have detected moments of curiosity about the peace and joy that characterizes my life despite all the persecution.

My brother Ahmed has struggled the most with the aftermath of the railway incident. The guilt of having triggered the events that led to my near execution has eaten at him for years, complicated by his inability to deny the supernatural nature of my deliverance. Two years ago, he finally approached me with questions about forgiveness and redemption, beginning conversations that I pray will eventually lead to his own encounter with Christ. The process has been slow and painful as he wrestles with years of Islamic indoctrination, but I see evidence of the Holy Spirit working in his heart.

The broader impact of our testimony has extended far beyond Saudi Arabia through modern communication networks that allow persecuted believers worldwide to share encouragement and resources. My story has been translated into dozens of languages and circulated through secure digital channels to underground churches in China, Iran, North Korea, and other nations where Christians face severe persecution. Letters smuggled out of prison camps and hidden churches speak of how the railway miracle has strengthened the faith of believers facing their own life-threatening situations.

Perhaps the most significant lesson I have learned through this journey is that God’s faithfulness extends far beyond the moment of dramatic intervention. While the railway miracle captured attention and opened hearts, the daily discipline of following Christ in a hostile environment has required sustained grace that proves just as miraculous as any supernatural event. Every day that I wake up alive in Saudi Arabia, every conversation that plants gospel seeds, every believer who finds courage to share their faith represents ongoing divine intervention in circumstances that naturally oppose kingdom advancement.

The relationship between suffering and spiritual growth has become clearer through years of reflection on the railway experience. That moment of physical deliverance was preceded by months of emotional and spiritual agony as I lived a double life torn between family loyalty and kingdom allegiance. The rescue from death was followed by years of social isolation, economic hardship, and constant surveillance that tested my faith in ways different from but equally challenging as facing an oncoming train. Yet through each trial, I have discovered deeper dimensions of Christ’s character and more complete understanding of his promises.

The Jesus who stopped a freight train through supernatural power is the same Jesus who provides daily strength for ordinary faithfulness in extraordinary circumstances. The God who delivered me from physical death continues to deliver me from spiritual discouragement, relational bitterness, and the temptation to compromise for the sake of earthly comfort.

Current developments in our ministry include plans for establishing a safe house network for converts fleeing immediate persecution and a scholarship program to help Christian young people pursue education in countries where their faith will not be a barrier to academic advancement. Prince Abdullah’s connections have enabled us to develop relationships with embassies and international organizations that can provide legal assistance for believers facing government prosecution.

We have also begun documenting the testimonies of other believers who have experienced supernatural intervention during persecution, creating a growing archive of modern miracles that demonstrates God’s continued activity in protecting and advancing his church. These stories serve both to encourage current believers and to challenge skeptics who assume that the age of miracles ended with the early church.

The theological implications of the railway miracle continue to shape my understanding of divine sovereignty and human responsibility. God’s intervention in that moment was complete and undeniable. Yet, it did not eliminate the need for wisdom, courage, and strategic thinking in subsequent ministry decisions. Divine protection does not guarantee earthly safety, but it does assure us that our lives remain in God’s hands regardless of human threats or governmental opposition.

As I reflect on the journey from that railway crossing to today’s expanding ministry, I am overwhelmed by the privilege of participating in God’s kingdom work during such a significant period of church growth in the Muslim world. The railway miracle was not an end in itself, but rather a doorway into deeper service and greater risk for the sake of the gospel.

So I am asking you just as someone who has experienced God’s miracle power firsthand, will you trust the same Jesus who stopped a freight train to save your soul today? The God who intervened in my impossible situation is ready to transform your life, whatever circumstances you may be facing. He may not rescue you from every earthly trial, but he promises to walk with you through every valley and ultimately deliver you into his eternal kingdom. The same supernatural power that broke my bonds and stopped that train is available to break the chains of sin, fear, and hopelessness that may be binding your heart.