My name is Ahmed.

I’m 28 years old.

And on March 15th, 2018, I accidentally picked up a Bible in a hotel room that would completely transform my life.

I never intended to read it.

I was raised in a strict Muslim household where touching Christian scriptures was considered sinful.

But that accident saved me from a forced marriage to my cousin and introduced me to Jesus Christ.

What happened next was nothing short of miraculous.

In just 5 days, Jesus would appear to me in a vision that shattered every chain of religious bondage I had known for 26 years.

I was born into a world where every breath I took was monitored.

Every word I spoke was filtered through centuries of Islamic tradition.

And every dream I dared to have was immediately measured against what Allah supposedly wanted for my life.

My father Abdullah served as an imam at the Al-Nor mosque in Detroit, Michigan.

He was a man whose presence filled every room with religious authority and unspoken expectations.

My mother, Amina, was the perfect Muslim wife who had surrendered her own identity so completely to tradition that I’m not sure she even remembered who she was before marriage.

From the moment I could walk, my days were structured around Islamic practices.

At 4:30 every morning, I heard the call to faja prayer echoing through our house.

By age five, I was expected to join my father in the ritual washings and prostrations that would define the rhythm of my entire childhood.

The Arabic words rolled off my tongue before I even understood their meaning.

Allah Akbar.

Subhan Allah.

Allah.

These phrases became as automatic as breathing.

But they never touched the deep places in my heart that yearned for something real.

Ask yourself this question.

Have you ever felt like your life belonged to everyone except you? That was my reality from my earliest memories.

Every decision from what clothes I wore to what friends I could have was filtered through Islamic law and family tradition.

I wasn’t Ahmed, the individual with hopes and dreams.

I was Ahmed, the Imam’s son, the keeper of family honor, the next generation responsible for maintaining our Islamic legacy.

School became my first taste of a different world.

While my Muslim classmates and I were pulled out of class for special prayers, I watched through the windows as other kids played freely during recess.

They talked about movies I wasn’t allowed to watch, music I couldn’t listen to, and freedoms I couldn’t even imagine.

During lunch, while I carefully avoided any food that might contain pork, my classmates shared their ham sandwiches without a second thought about religious restrictions.

The Quran memorization sessions with my father were particularly painful.

Every evening after regular homework, I spent two hours reciting Arabic verses I didn’t fully understand.

My father would correct my pronunciation with increasing frustration when I stumbled over the complex sounds.

Ahmed, he would say, his voice heavy with disappointment.

How can you carry the message of Islam if you cannot even speak Allah’s words properly? The pressure to be perfect in my recitation created a constant knot of anxiety in my stomach.

Our extended family wielded enormous influence over every aspect of our lives.

My uncle Hassan, my father’s older brother, was treated like a patriarch whose word was law.

During a family gatherings at his sprawling house in Dearbornne, I watched as major decisions about marriages, careers, and even which neighborhoods families should live in were made by the elder men.

While the women and younger men sat quietly, expected to accept whatever was decided for them.

The mosque became both my second home and my prison.

Three times a week, in addition to Friday prayers, I was required to attend Islamic studies classes where we learned about the superiority of Islam over all other religions.

Christianity was presented as a corrupted version of truth and Christians were described as misguided people who had strayed from Allah’s path.

Never forget our teacher would say that our duty is to live so purely that others will see Islam’s truth through our example.

But deep inside questions were growing that I was too terrified to voice.

When I read about Islamic punishments for apostasy, I wondered why a loving God would kill people for changing their minds about religion.

When I learned about the treatment of women in traditional Islamic societies, something in my spirit rebelled against the idea that half of humanity was created to be subordinate.

When I watched my female cousins being pulled out of school at 14 to prepare for arranged marriages, I felt sick to my stomach.

The isolation was overwhelming.

While my American classmates went to prom, dated, went to movies, and dreamed about their futures.

I lived in a parallel universe where such freedoms didn’t exist.

I felt like a bird in a cage, watching others fly through the window while my wings were clipped before I even knew I had them.

By my early 20s, the weight of living a life that felt completely disconnected from my authentic self was crushing me.

I had managed to pursue engineering in college, but even that victory came with constant pressure to use my education in service of the Muslim community.

Every conversation with my parents included reminders about finding a good Muslim wife, raising Islamic children, and continuing the family’s religious legacy.

Have you ever felt like you were drowning in your own life? that every day you woke up was just another day of pretending to be someone you weren’t.

That was my reality at 26 years old.

I was suffocating under the weight of traditions I had never chosen, beliefs that felt hollow in my chest and expectations that grew heavier with each passing year.

I had no idea that God was about to use the most devastating announcement of my life to set me on a path toward the freedom I had never dared to dream was possible.

The phone call came on a cold February morning in 2018.

My father’s voice was unusually formal when he told me that Uncle Hassan had requested my presence at a family meeting that evening.

It’s important, Ahmed, he said.

The entire family will be there.

Something in his tone made my stomach clench with dread, though I couldn’t have imagined what was coming.

I arrived at Uncle Hassan’s house in Dearbornne at 7:00 sharp.

The living room was filled with male relatives, their faces wearing expressions of solemn importance.

My father, my three uncles, several older cousins, and even my grandfather sat in a circle on the traditional floor cushions.

The women were in the kitchen preparing tea and sweets, but I noticed they kept glancing toward our gathering with knowing looks that made my anxiety spike.

Uncle Hassan cleared his throat and began speaking in Arabic, then switched to English for my benefit.

Ahmed, you are 26 years old now.

It is time for you to take a wife and fulfill your duty to Allah and to this family.

My heart began pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

We have chosen Fatima, my daughter, to be your bride.

She is a good Muslim girl.

She knows our family, and this union will strengthen our bloodline and our faith.

I remember the room spinning as they discussed my future like I wasn’t even there.

The men nodded approvingly while my uncle outlined the benefits of this arrangement.

Fatima was 22, had completed her Islamic studies, was skilled in traditional cooking and household management, and most importantly, she was family.

Cousin marriages keep our traditions strong, Uncle Hassan explained.

Your children will have pure Islamic bloodlines, and there will be no question about conflicting family values.

My mouth felt like cotton as I tried to process what was happening.

Fatima was my first cousin, Uncle Hassan’s eldest daughter.

I had grown up with her at family gatherings, but we had barely spoken beyond polite greetings.

She was quiet, obedient, and everything a traditional Muslim family would want in a daughter-in-law, but she was also a stranger to me, and the thought of spending my entire life married to someone I didn’t know or choose felt like a death sentence.

The engagement will take place in 6 weeks, my father announced, his voice filled with pride.

This will give both families time to prepare properly.

The wedding will follow in the summer, inshallah.

The other men began congratulating each other as if they had just completed a successful business transaction.

In their minds, they had.

They were trading their children like commodities to preserve their religious and cultural traditions.

Have you ever felt completely powerless in your own life? That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling like I was suffocating under the weight of everyone else’s expectations.

The next morning, I approached my father privately, hoping that maybe I could reason with him when he wasn’t performing for the extended family.

Baba, I said using the respectful term for father.

I need to talk to you about this marriage arrangement.

His face immediately hardened.

There is nothing to discuss, Ahmed.

The decision has been made.

Uncle Hassan has honored our family by offering his daughter.

You will not disgrace us by showing in gratitude.

I tried a different approach.

But I barely know Fatima.

Shouldn’t I have some say in choosing my life partner? My father’s eyes flashed with anger.

This is not America, Ahmed.

We are Muslims and we follow Islamic tradition.

Arranged marriages are blessed by Allah.

Your mother and I barely knew each other when we married.

And look how blessed our union has been.

When I persisted, he began quoting verses from the Quran about obedience to parents and family authority.

A beautiful son submits to his family’s wisdom.

He said, “Your desires are selfish and influenced by western corruption.

We know what is best for your spiritual development and your future.

” I found a moment to speak with Fatima privately at the next family gathering.

What I discovered broke my heart even more.

She was as trapped as I was, but she had been conditioned from childhood to accept whatever her father decided for her.

I know you don’t want this either, I whispered to her during a brief moment when we were alone in the hallway.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head quickly.

It doesn’t matter what I want, Ahmed.

This is Allah’s will for us.

We must submit.

Her resignation was heartbreaking.

We were two prisoners in the same cell, but neither of us had the keys to free the other.

My attempts to resist grew more desperate.

I considered running away, but where could I go with no money, no support system, and a family that would never stop looking for me? I thought about refusing to show up to the engagement, but the shame that would bring on both families would be unbearable.

In our community, breaking an arranged marriage agreement was considered a betrayal of the highest order.

The wedding preparations began immediately.

The women started planning the traditional ceremonies.

The guest lists grew longer each day and the mosque was reserved for the Islamic marriage contract ceremony.

My mother began shopping for my wedding clothes and talking excitedly about the grandchildren she expected within the first year of marriage.

Each day felt like walking toward my own execution.

I started having panic attacks whenever anyone mentioned the wedding.

My appetite disappeared and I lost 15 lbs in 3 weeks.

Sleep became impossible as I lay awake each night feeling like my life was ending before it had really begun.

Have you ever felt like you were drowning in circumstances beyond your control, gasping for air that never came? That was my reality as March 2018 approached.

I was 26 years old and my entire future had been decided by people who claimed to love me but had never asked me what I actually wanted from life.

I had no idea that God was already orchestrating events that would shatter these chains forever.

On March 15th, 2018, my engineering supervisor informed me that I needed to travel to Chicago for a 3-day client consultation.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been excited about the opportunity to get away from Detroit and the suffocating atmosphere of wedding preparations.

But by this point, nothing brought me joy.

The engagement was scheduled for April 5th, just 3 weeks away, and even a business trip felt like a temporary reprieve from a death sentence.

I checked into the Hampton Inn downtown Chicago around 6:00 in the evening.

Room 3:14 was a standard business hotel room with two beds, a small desk, and a view of the city skyline that I barely noticed.

My mind was consumed with the impossible situation waiting for me back home.

I had spent the entire flight trying to think of some way, any way to escape the marriage without destroying both families and bringing shame that would follow me for the rest of my life.

After completing my evening prayers out of habit more than devotion, I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling more hopeless than I had ever felt in my entire life.

The walls seemed to be closing in on me, and I found myself wondering if this was what it felt like to slowly lose your mind.

That’s when I decided to look for something to distract myself from the endless cycle of anxious thoughts.

I opened the nightstand drawer, looking for a hotel directory or maybe some stationery to write out my thoughts.

Instead, my hand touched a leatherbound book that I immediately recognized as a Bible.

My first instinct was to slam the drawer shut.

From childhood, I had been taught that Christian scriptures were corrupted versions of God’s original message, dangerous to read because they would confuse and mislead Muslims away from the truth of Islam.

But something kept me frozen there, staring at that book.

Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was curiosity about what Christians actually believed, or maybe it was something supernatural that I couldn’t understand at the time.

After several minutes of internal debate, I pulled the Bible out of the drawer with trembling hands.

I told myself I would just look at it briefly, maybe read a few pages to satisfy my curiosity, and then put it away.

I opened to a random page and found myself reading Matthew 11.

My eyes fell immediately on verses 28-30.

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

The words hit me like a physical force.

I read them again and then a third time.

Here was someone speaking directly to my exhausted, burdened heart, offering rest and peace.

This was completely different from the demanding fear-based relationship with Allah that I had known my entire life.

In Islam, I was constantly worried about whether I was praying correctly, fasting properly, or following enough rules to avoid punishment.

But these words spoke of gentleness, rest, and an easy burden.

I kept reading, flipping through pages with growing amazement.

In John 8:36, I found words that seemed to leap off the page.

If the sun sets you free, you will be free indeed.

Free.

The word echoed in my mind like a bell.

I had never associated freedom with religion.

Islam felt like a prison of rules, traditions, and expectations.

But here was Jesus talking about genuine freedom.

As the hours passed, I found myself completely absorbed in the gospels.

I read about Jesus healing the sick, defending women, challenging religious leaders who burden people with impossible rules, and showing love to outcasts and sinners.

This was nothing like the Jesus I had been taught about in Islamic studies.

In the mosque, Jesus was presented as a prophet who had been corrupted by his followers.

But reading his actual words, I encountered someone who spoke with authority, love, and power that felt completely authentic.

The most shocking discovery came when I read John 14 6 where Jesus declared, “I am the way and the truth and the life.

No one comes to the father except through me.

” In Islam, claiming to be God was the ultimate sin.

But something about Jesus’s words didn’t feel like arrogance or blasphemy.

They felt like truth spoken with quiet confidence by someone who had every right to make such a claim.

By 200 a.

m.

I was reading through tears I didn’t fully understand.

These weren’t tears of sadness, but something else entirely.

It felt like my heart was responding to something it had been searching for my entire life without knowing it.

The Jesus I was encountering in these pages offered everything my soul was desperately craving.

Unconditional love, true freedom, rest for the weary, and hope for the hopeless.

I tried to sleep around 3:00 a.

m.

but couldn’t stop thinking about what I had read.

After my morning prayers, which felt more hollow than ever, I immediately returned to the Bible.

I spent my lunch break reading in a coffee shop near the client’s office.

Every spare moment over the next two days was consumed with reading more about Jesus.

Something supernatural was happening to me that I couldn’t explain or control.

For the first time in months, the crushing anxiety about my upcoming engagement began to lift slightly.

Not because my circumstances had changed, but because I was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was someone who cared about my situation and had the power to do something about it.

God had orchestrated every detail, though I didn’t fully realize it yet.

He had arranged the business trip, the hotel room, the Bible left behind by a previous guest, and the supernatural hunger in my heart to keep reading.

What I thought was an accident was actually the beginning of the most important encounter of my life.

I returned to Detroit on March 18th with that stolen Bible hidden in the bottom of my suitcase like contraband.

For two days, I couldn’t concentrate on anything except the words I had read in Chicago.

During family conversations about wedding preparations, I felt like I was living in two different worlds.

On the surface, I nodded and responded appropriately to discussions about guest lists and ceremony details, but internally I was wrestling with everything I thought I knew about God, religion, and the meaning of life.

On the evening of March 20th, 2018, I waited until my parents were asleep before carefully retrieving the Bible from its hiding place under my mattress.

I had been thinking all day about Romans chapter 8 28 which I had read on the plane.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to his purpose.

The idea that God could work even terrible circumstances for good was completely foreign to my Islamic understanding.

But it gave me a hope I had never experienced.

I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, the Bible open in my lap, reading by the light of my desk lamp.

The house was completely quiet, except for the occasional sound of cars passing on the street outside.

I was reading that same verse again, trying to understand how God could possibly work my forced marriage situation for good, when something extraordinary began to happen.

The atmosphere in my room suddenly changed.

Have you ever walked into a place and immediately sensed that something significant had happened there? Even though you couldn’t see any visible evidence, the air itself felt different, charged with an energy that made every hair on my arms stand up.

I looked up from the Bible, and the temperature seemed to shift, becoming warmer despite the fact that it was still winter in Michigan.

Then I saw him.

Jesus appeared in my room as clearly as if he had walked through the door, though I knew that was impossible since the door was still closed.

He stood about 6 feet away from me, and his presence filled every corner of the space with an overwhelming sense of love, peace, and holiness.

I want to be careful how I describe this, because I know it sounds impossible, but I’m telling you exactly what happened to me that night.

His appearance was nothing like the blondhaired, blue-eyed Jesus from European paintings I’d occasionally seen.

His skin was olive toned, his hair was dark and shoulder length, and his eyes held depths of compassion that seemed to see straight through to my soul.

He was wearing a simple white robe that seemed to emit its own soft light.

But what struck me most powerfully was not how he looked, but how his presence made me feel.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt completely known and completely accepted at the same time.

In Islamic teaching, Allah was always described as distant, unknowable, and quick to anger.

But standing in my bedroom was someone who radiated perfect love without a trace of condemnation or judgment.

I should have been terrified.

According to everything I had been taught, I was in the presence of either a demon deceiving me or I was losing my mind entirely.

Instead, I felt safer than I had ever felt in my entire life.

Jesus extended his arms toward me, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle but carried absolute authority.

Ahmed, he said, and hearing my name spoken by him sent waves of love through my entire being.

I have loved you with an everlasting love.

I have been drawing you to myself.

I tried to speak but no words would come.

My mind was reeling with questions, fears, and confusion.

But my heart was responding to something it recognized as ultimate truth.

You don’t have to live in chains anymore, Jesus continued.

And somehow I knew he was talking about far more than just my upcoming marriage.

He was talking about the spiritual bondage, the religious fear, the constant anxiety about pleasing an angry god that had defined my entire existence.

But I’m Muslim, I finally managed to whisper.

I’ve been taught that you’re just a prophet.

Not God.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

Jesus smiled with such tenderness that I started crying without knowing why.

Son, he said, and that single word conveyed more love than I had received from my earthly father in 26 years.

I am the way, the truth, and the life.

Everything you’ve been searching for, you will find in me.

He showed me glimpses of a different future, though I’m not sure if these were visions or if he was somehow communicating directly with my spirit.

I saw myself free from the suffocating weight of religious performance.

I saw myself in loving relationships that were chosen rather than forced.

I saw myself using my life to help other people find the same freedom and peace I was experiencing in that moment.

What about my family? I asked.

What about the shame I bring on them? What about everything I’ve been taught about Islam being the only true religion? Jesus’s expression became even more compassionate.

I know the cost will be high, he said, but I have plans for you that will give you hope and a future.

Trust me with your life, Ahmed.

I will never leave you or forsake you.

The physical sensation of being in his presence was unlike anything I can adequately describe.

Imagine feeling completely safe, perfectly loved, and absolutely certain that everything was going to be okay all at the same time.

The chronic anxiety that had been my constant companion for months simply evaporated.

The fear that usually consumed me when I thought about defying my family was replaced by supernatural courage.

“Will you follow me?” Jesus asked.

Without hesitation, I whispered, “Yes.

” The moment I said that word, I felt something fundamental shift inside my soul.

It was as if chains I didn’t even know I was wearing.

suddenly broke and fell away.

I felt lighter, cleaner, and more alive than I had ever felt.

I knew with absolute certainty that I had just encountered the living God and that my life would never be the same.

The vision lasted approximately 15 minutes.

And when Jesus gradually faded from sight, I remained on my bedroom floor weeping with joy and overwhelming gratitude.

I knew I was a new creation.

The old Ahmed, the one bound by Islamic tradition and family expectations, had died that night.

In his place was someone who belonged to Jesus Christ and was truly free for the first time in his life.

2 days after my encounter with Jesus, I woke up on March 22nd feeling like I was living in a completely different reality.

The supernatural peace from that night remained with me, but I had no idea how I was going to navigate the impossible situation with my family and the upcoming engagement.

I had surrendered my life to Christ, but the practical implications of that decision seemed overwhelming.

How do you tell a devout Muslim family that you’ve converted to Christianity? How do you break an engagement that involves two families honor and reputation? I was getting ready for work when my phone rang at 7 in the morning.

It was Uncle Hassan and his voice sounded strange in a way I had never heard before.

Ahmed, he said, we need to have an emergency family meeting tonight.

Something has happened that affects the engagement plans.

My heart started pounding, but this time it wasn’t from anxiety.

Something deep in my spirit whispered that God was moving circumstances.

I could never have moved myself.

I agreed to be at his house by 6:00 and spent the entire day at work praying to Jesus, still amazed that I was now talking to God as a loving father rather than a distant demanding Allah.

When I arrived at Uncle Hassan’s house that evening, the atmosphere was completely different from the celebratory mood of six weeks earlier.

The men sat in the same circle, but their faces were grave with concern.

Uncle Hassan looked like he had aged 5 years in the past month.

His usually confident demeanor was replaced by visible stress and embarrassment.

“There has been a significant development,” he began, switching between Arabic and English as he spoke.

“My business has encountered serious financial difficulties.

The restaurant franchise I invested in has failed and I owe substantial money to creditors.

My family needs to return to Pakistan immediately to stay with relatives while I rebuild my finances.

The room fell silent as the implications became clear.

Fatima would be moving to Pakistan with her family indefinitely.

The engagement that had been planned for two weeks away was now impossible.

Uncle Hassan continued, his voice heavy with what seemed like shame.

I cannot provide the proper wedding that Fatima deserves, and I cannot ask Ahmed’s family to wait indefinitely while I resolve these financial problems.

I watched my father’s face as he processed this information.

He was clearly disappointed and embarrassed that our family’s carefully laid plans were falling apart.

But he was also trying to be respectful to his older brother during a difficult time.

The other family members began discussing possible solutions.

Could the engagement proceed anyway with a very simple ceremony? Could Fatima stay in Detroit with relatives while her parents went to Pakistan? Could we wait a year for their financial situation to improve? As I listened to them trying to salvage their arranged marriage plans, I felt the supernatural courage that Jesus had given me two nights earlier rising up in my chest.

This was the moment I had been hoping and praying for, the divine intervention that only God could orchestrate.

But I also knew that I couldn’t just passively let them postpone the inevitable.

I had to take a stand for the truth that had transformed my life.

Actually, I said, and my voice came out stronger and clearer than I expected.

I don’t want to marry Fatima under any circumstances, now or later.

The room went completely silent.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Every face turned toward me with expressions ranging from shock to anger to disbelief.

My father’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and I could see the fury building behind his controlled expression.

What did you just say?” Uncle Hassan asked, his voice low and threatening.

The words that came out of my mouth next felt like they were coming from a strength that wasn’t my own.

I said, “I won’t marry Fatima.

Not in 6 months, not in a year, not ever.

I don’t love her.

I barely know her.

And I refused to spend my entire life in a marriage that was arranged without considering what either of us actually wanted.

” My father exploded out of his seated position.

How dare you disgrace this family with such selfishness? He shouted, “Uncle Hassan has honored us by offering his daughter.

And you respond with this ungrateful rebellion.

” “It’s not rebellion, Baba,” I replied, amazed at how calm I felt even as the storm erupted around me.

“It’s honesty.

We’re talking about the rest of my life, and I should have some say in who I marry.

” Uncle Hassan’s face was turning red with anger.

This is what happens when young men are corrupted by American thinking.

He said, “You forget your duties to family and to Allah because of your selfish desires.

” That’s when I knew I had to tell them the complete truth.

Standing there in that room full of angry men who had controlled every aspect of my life for 26 years, I felt Jesus standing with me, giving me courage I had never possessed on my own.

My decision has nothing to do with American thinking.

I said it has everything to do with the fact that I’m no longer a Muslim.

Three days ago, Jesus Christ revealed himself to me and I have surrendered my life to him.

I am now a follower of Jesus and I cannot marry someone who doesn’t share my faith.

The silence that followed was deafening.

For several seconds, nobody moved or spoke.

Then the explosion came from multiple directions at once.

You have lost your mind.

My father screamed.

This is temporary insanity from work stress.

Uncle Hassan declared.

We will take you to the imam immediately for spiritual counseling.

My father continued.

But I stood my ground, feeling Jesus presence strengthening me with each word I spoke.

This is not insanity or stress.

This is the most clear-minded I have ever been in my entire life.

Jesus Christ is the son of God.

He died for my sins, and he has set me free from the bondage of religious performance and family control.

My father’s face went through several different emotions before settling on cold fury.

If you continue with this blasphemous talk, you will be dead to this family.

Do you understand what you’re saying? Look inside your own heart right now and ask yourself what would you be willing to sacrifice to be truly free.

Standing there, facing the certain loss of everything I had ever known, I felt more alive than I had ever felt.

I understand completely, I replied.

And Jesus Christ is worth it.

That night, I was ordered to leave my family’s home immediately.

As I packed my few belongings, I could hear my mother crying in the kitchen and my father making phone calls to other family members, telling them about my temporary mental breakdown.

But walking out of that house with my suitcase and my hidden Bible, I felt like the chains of 26 years had finally been broken completely.

Walking out of my family’s house that March evening with nothing but a suitcase and my faith in Jesus Christ, I had no idea where I was going to sleep that night.

The temperature was dropping below freezing, and I sat in my car in the driveway for several minutes, watching the lights in the house I had called home for 26 years.

Knowing I might never be welcome there again, I called David Martinez, a Christian coworker who had always been kind to me, but with whom I had never discussed anything deeper than engineering projects.

When I explained my situation, he didn’t hesitate for even a second.

Come to my house right now, he said.

You can stay as long as you need to.

That was my first experience of Christian love in action.

David and his wife Sarah opened their guest room to a virtual stranger simply because I had become their brother in Christ.

Those first few weeks were the most challenging and the most beautiful of my entire life.

Every morning I woke up expecting to feel regret about my decision to follow Jesus.

Instead, I felt increasing peace and joy that seemed to grow stronger each day.

David introduced me to daily Bible study and taught me how to pray conversationally to Jesus instead of performing ritualistic Islamic prayers five times a day.

The practical challenges were overwhelming.

My father had contacted my employer and told them I was having a mental breakdown trying to get me fired from my engineering job.

My bank account, which had been partially controlled by my family, was frozen.

I received threatening phone calls from extended family members who accused me of bringing shame on the entire Islamic community in Detroit.

But God provided for every need through his people.

On April 15th, exactly one month after my vision of Jesus, Pastor Mike baptized me at Riverside Baptist Church.

David had been taking me there every Sunday, and the congregation had embraced me with a love I had never experienced.

Standing in that baptismal pool, I felt like the last chains of my old life were being washed away.

When I came up from the water, I was truly born again in every sense of the word.

The transformation in my heart was miraculous.

For 26 years, I had lived in constant fear of not being good enough for Allah, never knowing if my prayers were acceptable or if I was following enough rules to avoid punishment.

But in Christ, I discovered unconditional love and complete acceptance.

I no longer had to earn God’s approval because Jesus had already paid the price for my sins.

Learning to live as a Christian required completely rewiring my understanding of God and spirituality.

Instead of rigid prayer times and ritualistic washings, I learned to talk to Jesus throughout the day like he was my closest friend.

Instead of memorizing Arabic verses I didn’t understand, I studied the Bible in English and discovered that God actually wanted me to understand his word and apply it to my life.

The cost of my faith continued to be painful.

My mother began calling me secretly, begging me to return to Islam, and promising that we could work out a different marriage arrangement if I would just come home.

These conversations broke my heart because I could hear her genuine love and concern, but she couldn’t understand that I had found something infinitely better than anything she could offer me.

My father maintained complete silence for months, treating me as if I had died.

Through relatives, I learned that he had told everyone in the mosque that his son had been deceived by Western corruption and that they should pray for Allah to restore my sanity.

The family held what was essentially a funeral for me, mourning my spiritual death and cutting off all contact.

But God was using my pain for his purpose.

Within six months of my conversion, I began sharing my testimony with other Muslims who were questioning their faith.

Pastor Mike connected me with a ministry that reached out to Middle Eastern refugees.

And I discovered that my engineering background and my ability to speak Arabic made me valuable in helping newcomers to America.

At the refugee center, I met Amir, a young man from Syria who had been forced to flee his country because he had converted from Islam to Christianity.

His family had tried to kill him for his apostasy and he had escaped with nothing but his faith.

Helping Amir adjust to life in America showed me that God was calling me to use my experience to help others who were facing similar struggles.

The ministry opportunities kept expanding.

Churches throughout Michigan began inviting me to share my testimony.

And I discovered that God had given me a heart for evangelizing to Muslim communities.

Every time I spoke about my encounter with Jesus, I saw other people’s hearts being touched by the same love that had transformed my life.

18 months after my conversion at a Christian conference in Grand Rapids, I met Rebecca, a missionary who had spent 5 years working in North Africa before returning to the United States.

She understood the cultural challenges I had faced in leaving Islam, and she shared my passion for reaching Muslims with the gospel.

Our friendship developed into something deeper and I realized I was experiencing the kind of love that God had always intended for marriage based on choice, mutual respect, and shared faith.

Look inside your own heart right now.

Are you living in bondage to other people’s expectations? Are you trapped in circumstances that are crushing your spirit? I’m asking you as someone who has experienced God’s miraculous intervention firsthand to consider that Jesus Christ can break any chain, whether cultural, spiritual, or emotional.

Today, 5 years after that hotel room encounter with the Bible, I am living a life I could never have imagined.

Rebecca and I have been married for two years, and we’re preparing for missionary work in the Middle East, where we can share the love of Christ with Muslims who are searching for the same freedom I found.

My relationship with Jesus grows deeper every day, and I wake up each morning amazed that I serve a God who loves me unconditionally.

The forced marriage that seemed like the end of my life was actually God’s way of driving me to my knees where I could finally encounter him.

Jesus didn’t just save me from an unwanted marriage.

He saved my eternal soul and gave me abundant life.

Maybe you’re listening to this today and you feel trapped in your own impossible situation.

Maybe you’re a Muslim who has questions about Islam that you’re afraid to voice.

Maybe you’re facing family pressure that seems insurmountable.

I want you to know that the same Jesus who appeared to me in a hotel room in Chicago is still performing miracles today.

He can break your chains.

He can give you courage to stand up for truth.

He can provide for your needs when everyone else abandons you.

And he can give you a life of purpose and joy that you never dared to dream was possible.

Jesus saves.

Jesus heals and Jesus sets the captives free, including you.

March 15, 2018 was the day my real life began.

What day will be yours?