My name is Commander Rashid Hassan.

I’m 45 years old and on March 15th, 2018, I was supposed to die.

I was sentenced to execution for treason against my faith, my country, and everything I once held sacred.

But uh Jesus Christ had uh other plans.

I wasn’t just born Muslim.

Islam coursed through my veins like blood, pumping with every heartbeat, flowing through every thought and decision I made.

My father, Imam Abdul Hassan, led our local mosque with unwavering devotion.

From the moment I could speak, he taught me that Allah was not just my creator, but my master, my judge, and my only path to paradise.

My mother, Fatima, uh dedicated her life to teaching Quranic studies to the women in our community.

She would wake me before dawn, her gentle but firm voice calling me to prayer.

Rashid, my son, Allah sees everything.

He knows if you truly submit or if you merely pretend.

Before I turned five, I had memorized my first chapter of the Quran.

By 10, I could recite 12 chapters flawlessly in Arabic.

Though I barely understood the meaning, the rhythm, the melody, the sacred words became the soundtrack of my childhood.

Every morning at 5:00 a.m., my feet would touch the cold prayer rug beside my father.

Together, we would bow, prostrate, and surrender our will to Allah’s divine plan.

Five times daily, without question, without hesitation.

To question Islam wasn’t just apostasy in our household.

It was betraying my very DNA, spitting in the face of generations who had died defending the faith.

My neighborhood was a fortress of Islamic tradition.

The call to prayer echoed from three different mosques within walking distance.

During Ramadan, the entire community feasted together, broke bread together, and strengthened our collective faith together.

I remember watching my father’s eyes shine with pride when I completed my first full month of fasting at age 12.

“You are becoming a true soldier of Allah,” he told me, placing his withered hand on my shoulder.

“Those words planted a seed that would grow into my military ambitions.

” At 18, I made the decision that would shape the next two decades of my life.

I joined the military academy not for career advancement or personal glory but to serve Allah and defend our Islamic nation.

The physical training was brutal.

But the discipline I had learned through years of prayer and submission made me excel where others failed.

While my fellow cadets struggled with the rigid schedule, I thrived.

I had been waking at dawn for prayers since childhood.

I understood obedience, hierarchy, and sacrifice.

My commanding officers noticed my dedication immediately.

Captain Mahmood pulled me aside during my third month.

Hassan, you have something different.

You don’t just follow orders, you embody them.

What drives you? I looked him straight in the eye and answered with complete conviction, “I serve Allah first, my country second, and myself last.

” He nodded slowly, understanding that he had found a rare soldier who fought for something greater than pay grade or promotion.

Every battle strategy I learned, every tactical formation I mastered, every weapon I carried, I dedicated to Allah’s glory.

When we engaged enemy forces along our eastern border during my second year of service, I prayed before every mission.

Not just the standard prayers, but personal conversations with Allah, asking him to guide my bullets, protect my men, and grant us victory over those who opposed his will.

My accuracy rate became legendary among my unit.

Other soldiers started asking me to pray for them before dangerous operations.

My reputation grew with each successful mission.

By age 25, I had earned three medals of honor and the respect of generals twice my age.

But what truly set me apart wasn’t my marksmanship or my tactical intelligence.

It was my unwavering moral compass rooted in Islamic law.

I never drank alcohol, never pursued women outside of marriage, never took bribes, and never showed mercy to enemies of the state.

My fellow officers knew they could trust me with classified information, sensitive missions, and the lives of their men.

The promotion to regional commander came when I turned 35 after 17 years of flawless service.

The ceremony took place in our capital’s grand mosque, combining military tradition with religious blessing.

As the general pinned the insignia to my uniform, the Imam recited verses from the Quran about righteous leadership and divine authority.

500 soldiers now answered to my command preps.

They saw Allah’s consistent victories and the protective presence they felt during our most dangerous operations.

And Sergeant Ahmad once told me, “Commander, when you lead us into battle, we know we’re fighting alongside angels.

” I never discouraged this belief because I genuinely felt Allah’s hand guiding every decision I made.

My personal life reflected the same Islamic devotion that defined my military career.

At 28, I married Zara, the daughter of a respected imam from a neighboring province.

She embodied everything I valued in a Muslim woman, modest, intelligent, devoted to prayer, and committed to raising our children in strict Islamic tradition.

Our son Omar and daughter Amira attended the finest Islamic schools, memorizing Quranic verses and learning Arabic alongside the regular studies.

Every Friday, I spoke at our base mosque, sharing how Islamic principles applied to military service and national defense.

My reputation extended beyond our base into the surrounding civilian community.

Local leaders consulted me on matters of Islamic law and social issues.

I was everything a Muslim man dreams of becoming.

Successful, respected, spiritually devoted and blessed with a faithful family.

Looking back now, I realize I had constructed my entire identity around being the perfect Muslim soldier.

Every morning when I looked in the mirror, I saw a man whom Allah had chosen to defend the faith through military might.

My pride wasn’t selfish ambition.

It was religious conviction.

I genuinely believed that my success proved Allah’s approval of my life choices and my unwavering submission to his will.

The morning that changed everything started like any other Tuesday in October 2017.

My intelligence unit had uh tracked down a suspected Christian underground network operating in the mountainous region north of our base.

These weren’t violent extremists or political dissident.

They were ordinary families secretly practicing Christianity in a country where such faith could cost them everything.

My orders were clear.

Raid their meeting place.

Confiscate all religious materials and arrest the leaders for interrogation.

We surrounded the small stone house before dawn, catching them during what appeared to be a morning prayer service.

12 adults and several children sat in a circle, heads bowed, voices softly singing hymns I had never heard before.

The melody was hauntingly beautiful, filled with a piece that seemed to contradict everything I believed about Christian deception and western corruption.

When we burst through the door, the children didn’t scream or run.

They simply looked at us with eyes that held no hatred, no fear, only a strange sadness.

The raid yielded typical contraband, Christian literature, handwritten copies of biblical passages, and several worn Bibles in our local language.

Protocol demanded that I burn everything immediately and file a standard report about destroying enemy propaganda.

But as I gathered the materials into a pile for burning, one particular book caught my attention.

It was larger than the others, bound in brown leather that had been lovingly maintained despite obvious age and heavy use.

The cover was embossed with a simple cross and the words Holy Bible in elegant script.

Something stopped me from throwing it onto the fire with the rest.

I told myself it was tactical wisdom.

Know your enemy.

Understand their strategies.

Learn their weaknesses.

If I was going to effectively combat Christian influence in our region, I needed to understand what made their faith so compelling that people would risk their lives to practice it.

That reasoning satisfied my military training and my Islamic duty.

I slipped the Bible into my personal gear bag, planning to study it privately and measures against my [Music] every few hours.

I found myself as if it were somehow falling to me.

The logical part of my mind dismissed this as curiosity about enemy tactics, but something deeper was stirring, something I didn’t want to acknowledge or examine too closely.

3 days passed before I opened it.

I waited until Zara had fallen asleep, then quietly moved to my study and closed the door.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened the cover.

I expected to find obvious lies, blasphemous teachings, and ridiculous stories that would confirm everything I had been taught about Christian corruption.

Instead, I found myself reading about a man named Jesus who spoke with authority about love, forgiveness, and sacrifice in ways that resonated with something deep in my soul.

I started with random pages, jumping from book to book without any systematic approach.

A passage in Matthew caught my attention.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

As a military commander, I understood the value of peace.

But this verse suggested that making peace was somehow divine work.

Then I read, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

” This was completely foreign to everything I knew about warfare and justice.

Islamic teaching emphasized victory over enemies, not love for them.

The more I read, the more confused I became.

This Jesus character didn’t sound like the weak, defeated figure I had been taught Christians worshiped.

He spoke with confidence about spiritual matters, challenged religious authorities, and claimed direct relationship with God in ways that seemed both humble and supremely authoritative.

When I read John 3:16, for God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Something inside my chest felt like it was breaking open.

Night after night, I returned to that forbidden book.

I told myself I was conducting research, preparing arguments to refute Christian claims when I encountered them in future operations.

But honestly, I was becoming fascinated by the person of Jesus Christ.

The Jesus I read about in these pages was nothing like what I had been taught.

He wasn’t weak or passive.

He was revolutionary, challenging, and absolutely convinced of his divine mission.

He spoke about God with an intimacy that made my formal prayers seem distant and cold.

The internal war began slowly, then intensified into spiritual agony that kept me awake for hours.

Everything I read about Jesus contradicted my Islamic training.

Yet, it resonated with longings I didn’t even know I possessed.

When Jesus said, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” I felt a deep exhaustion in my soul.

that I had never acknowledged before.

When he declared, “I am the way and the truth and the life,” I found myself comparing his confident claims with Muhammad’s teachings, and the comparison troubled me deeply.

My behavior began changing in ways that others noticed.

During Friday prayers uh at the base mosque, I found my mind wandering to passages I had read the night before.

When I led my men in traditional Islamic prayers before missions, the words felt hollow in my mouth.

I started showing unexpected mercy toward suspected Christians we encountered during routine patrols.

Where I once would have recommended harsh interrogation, I found myself advocating for lenient treatment.

Zara noticed the change first.

Rashid, you seem distant lately.

Are you troubled by something at work? She was a perceptive woman trained to recognize spiritual struggles from her years of Islamic study.

I assured her everything was fine.

But my prayers at home became shorter, less enthusiastic.

I stopped correcting her when she showed too much toward refugees in our community.

My police seem less passionate about Islamic mission later.

Some are questioning whether you’ve been compromised somehow.

His words hit me like a physical blow because they contained a truth I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

The turning point came during a particularly intense night of reading.

I had reached the crucifixion account in the Gospel of Mark and something about Jesus’s suffering pierced through every defense I had constructed.

Here was a man who claimed to be God’s son, willingly accepting torture and death for people who hated him.

The depth of love described in those pages was unlike anything I had ever encountered in Islamic teaching.

Muhammad was a great prophet and military leader.

But Jesus was something entirely different.

That night alone in my study at 2:00 a.

m.

I did something that would uh have horrified my father, my wife, and every person I respected.

I spoke directly to Jesus Christ, not as a military commander addressing a foreign deity, but as a desperate man reaching out to someone who might actually hear him.

Jesus, if you’re real, if you’re truly who these pages claim you are, show me.

I’m risking everything just by reading this book.

If you exist, if you care about one confused Muslim soldier, make yourself known to me.

The moment those words left my lips, I knew I could never go back to who I was before.

Something fundamental had shifted in my heart.

And though I didn’t yet understand the full implications, I realized my life as I had known it was ending.

The man who had opened that Bible was no longer the man sitting in that chair.

I had crossed the line from which there would be no retreat.

and the terrifying beauty of it left me trembling until dawn.

The discovery happened on a routine Tuesday morning in February 2018, exactly 4 months after I had first opened that Bible.

Lieutenant Camille was conducting his weekly inspection of officer quarters, a standard procedure I had implemented to maintain discipline and security.

I had grown careless, overconfident in my ability to hide my secret.

The Bible was tucked under my mattress, wrapped in a spare uniform shirt.

I thought it was safe there, invisible to casual observation.

I was catastrophically wrong.

I was in the mess hall reviewing patrol schedules when Lieutenant Camille burst through the doors.

His face pale with shock and horror.

In his trembling hands, he held my carefully hidden Bible, now exposed for everyone to see.

The conversations around me stopped instantly.

47 officers and enlisted men turned to stare at the forbidden book, then at me, their expressions shifting from confusion to disgust to outrage.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before Lieutenant Camille found his voice.

“Commander Hassan,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I found this hidden in your personal quarters.

” He held the Bible up like contaminated evidence, unable to even touch it properly.

“Sir, please tell me there’s an explanation.

Please tell me this belongs to a prisoner or confiscated item you forgot to process.

The hope in his voice was heartbreaking because we both knew there was no innocent explanation for a Bible hidden under my mattress wrapped with obvious care and reverence.

The horror in his eyes told me my life was over.

This was a young man who had served under my command for 3 years who had looked up to me as a father figure and spiritual mentor.

I had personally recommended him for promotion twice, praised his Islamic devotion in official reports and trusted him with sensitive missions.

Now he was staring at me like I had transformed into something monstrous before his very eyes.

The betrayal he felt was written across his face.

And I realized my secret military police had placed me under the fists as they me soldiers I had commanded, trained and led into battle.

Some watched in stunned silence, others sput at my feet, and a few wept openly.

Sergeant Ahmad, who had once said we fought alongside angels when I led them, now refused to look at me at all.

The man who had trusted me with his life, couldn’t bear to acknowledge my existence.

They placed me in solitary confinement while the investigation began.

The cell was barely 6 ft wide with concrete walls, a metal cut, and a bucket for waste.

The isolation gave me too much time to think about what I had done and what was coming.

I knew Islamic law.

I knew military protocol.

And I knew the penalty for apostasy.

In our country, converting from Islam to Christianity was considered treason against both God and state.

The punishment was always death.

The formal charges were read to me 3 days later in the bases main conference room.

I stood before a tribunal of seven officers, including my former mentor, General Abdullah, who had overseen my promotion to commander.

His face showed no emotion as he read the accusations against me.

Apostasy, treason, corrupting Islamic troops, and possessing enemy propaganda.

Each charge carried a potential death sentence, and the evidence was undeniable.

The Bible sat on the table between us, open to John 3:16, the page marked with obvious wear from repeated reading.

The trial that followed was a formality.

Fellow commanders who had once respected my leadership now testified against me with passionate conviction.

Captain Mahmud, who had praised my dedication years earlier, told the tribunal, “Hassan has betrayed everything we stand for.

He has dishonored his uniform, his faith, and his family.

He is no longer the man we knew.

Colonel Fared described how my behavior had become suspicious in recent months, how I had shown uncharacteristic mercy toward Christian suspects, and how my Islamic prayers had lost their former intensity.

The most devastating testimony came from men who had served under my direct command.

They described how my changed behavior had confused and disturbed them.

How they had begun to question their own faith because their commander seemed less committed to Islamic principles.

One young sergeant broke down crying as he testified, “Commander Hassan taught me that a true Muslim never compromises with the enemies of Allah.

” Now I don’t know what to believe about anything.

The realization that my spiritual struggle had damaged the faith of these young soldiers crushed me more than the prospect of my own death.

The religious council’s judgment was swift and unanimous.

Senor Imam Mortada, a man I had known since childhood, delivered the verdict with tears uh in his eyes.

Rashid Hassan, son of Imam Abdul Hassan.

You have committed the gravest sin possible.

You have abandoned the faith of your fathers, rejected the final prophet, Muhammad, and embraced the lies of Christianity.

You have brought shame upon your family name and betrayed every person who ever trusted you.

” His voice broke as he continued, “By the authority of Islamic law and the sovereignty of our nation, you are sentenced to death by execution.

The sentence specified that I would be shot by firing squad at dawn on March 15th, 2018.

The tribunal granted me 3 days to reconsider my position, to renounce Christianity, and to return to Islam.

This mercy period was traditional, giving condemned apostates one final opportunity to save their lives by admitting their error and submitting again to Allah’s will.

Each day, different religious leaders visited my cell, pleading with me to abandon this foolish path and embrace the faith that could still save my life.

My family’s reaction devastated me was to see on the second day her eyes her hands shaking and she said Rashid cannot show their faces at school.

Your father has disowned you publicly.

The imam says I should divorce you immediately to save my own reputation.

She begged me to renounce Christianity to claim temporary insanity to do anything that would allow our family to survive this disgrace.

My father never came to see me.

The Imam who had raised me in the faith, who had taught me my first prayers, who had been proud of my military service, refused to acknowledge my existence.

Through mutual friends, I learned that he had declared me dead to the family, and forbidden anyone from speaking my name in his presence.

My mother sent one message through Zahara.

My son died the day he opened that book.

The children were another matter entirely.

Omar, my 15year-old son, was expelled from his Islamic school and had to transfer to a public institution where he faced daily harassment.

Amira, only 12, came home crying every day because her classmates called her the apostates daughter.

The shame and social destruction my choices had brought upon innocent people tortured me more than any physical punishment could have.

Yet even facing death and uh the complete destruction of everything I had built in life.

I could not bring myself to deny what my heart had come to know about Jesus Christ.

Every time someone offered me the chance to recent, to claim temporary madness, to return to the safety of Islamic faith, I remembered the passages I had read about Jesus own willingness to die rather than deny his identity and mission.

If he could face crucifixion for claiming to be God’s son, how could I face a firing squad and deny that he was my savior? The final day arrived with unbearable weight.

Guards informed me that the execution would take place at sunrise, approximately 6 hours away.

I had refused all opportunities to save my life through renunciation.

My family had been notified that after my death, they would be relocated to another province where they could begin rebuilding their reputation away from the shame I had brought upon them.

In 6 hours, I would be dead and everyone I loved would spend the rest of their lives trying to forget that Rashid Hassan had ever existed.

The final night before my execution was the longest of my life.

I sat on the cold metal coat in my cell, watching shadows move across the concrete walls as guards patrolled outside.

6 hours until sunrise.

6 hours until bullets would tear through my chest and end everything I had ever been.

The weight of that reality pressed down on me like a physical force, making it difficult to breathe.

I had made peace with dying for my newfound faith in Jesus Christ.

But I was terrified of leaving my family to bear the shame and consequences of my choices for the rest of their lives.

Sleep was impossible.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Zara’s tear stained face.

Heard my children’s voices calling for their father.

Imagine the firing squad taking aim at my heart.

I tried to pray but the words that came out of my mouth were a confused mixture of Islamic phrases I had memorized in childhood and desperate please to Jesus Christ.

37 years of Islamic training don’t disappear overnight and in my deepest fear muscle memory kept pulling me back toward the prayers I had known since I could speak.

At 2:00 a.

m.

, I attempted one final Islamic prayer, hoping against hope that Allah might somehow intervene that I could find a way back to the safety of my former faith.

I knelt on the concrete floor, faced what I believed was the direction of Mecca, and uh began the familiar words, “Allah Akbar, God is most great.

” But as I continued the ritual movements and recitations, something felt fundamentally wrong.

The words that had once broken and certainty like speaking foreign language I the silence in the sun was but instead of pray different words began flowing from my heart Jesus I don’t know how to pray to you properly I don’t know your rituals or your requirements.

But if you’re real, if you truly died for someone like me, please help me.

I’m about to die for believing in you, and I’m terrified, not of death, but of what my death will do to my wife and children.

What happened next defies every rational explanation.

And I understand if you struggle to believe what I’m about to tell you.

But I must share exactly what occurred in that cell because it changed not only my eternal destiny, but also the course of my family’s life in ways I could never have imagined.

At exactly 3:00 a.

m.

, a light began filling my cell.

Not the harsh fluorescent lighting from the corridor, but something warm and golden that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The temperature in the room shifted from the cold dumpness of prison to something like a perfect spring morning.

I looked around frantically, thinking guards were conducting some kind of late night inspection, but the light was coming from within the cell itself, growing brighter with each passing second.

Then I heard my name spoken with a voice that carried more love than I had ever experienced in my entire life.

Rashid, not Commander Hassan, not the formal titles I had earned through military service, but my simple given name spoken with such tenderness that I began weeping immediately.

The voice was male, authoritative yet gentle, and it seemed to come from the light itself rather than from any visible person.

As the light continued to intensify, a figure began to take shape in the corner of my cell.

I can only describe what I saw as the most beautiful and terrifying person I had ever encountered.

He appeared to be a man in his 30s, wearing simple white robes that seemed to be woven from the same light that filled the room.

His face was kind but bore evidence of suffering I couldn’t comprehend.

His hands, when he extended them toward me, showed scars that I immediately understood were nail wounds.

“Do not be afraid, my son,” Jesus said.

And his voice contained such perfect peace that my terror transformed instantly into overwhelming awe.

“I have heard your prayers.

I have seen your heart and I have come to deliver you, he moved closer and though my rational mind insisted this was impossible.

Every fiber of my being recognized that I was in the presence of the same Jesus I had been reading about in that forbidden Bible.

Lord, I am about to die for believing in you.

I whispered hardly able to form words in his presence.

I accept that fate, but please protect my family from the consequences of my choices.

Jesus smiled and that expression contained more joy than I had ever seen on any human face.

Rashid, do you think I would allow my children to suffer for following me? Watch and see how your God delivers those who trust in him.

He placed his scarred hand on my forehead and immediately every fear, every doubt, every regret that had been tormenting me disappeared completely.

In that moment, I understood with absolute certainty that Jesus Christ was exactly who he claimed to be, the son of God, my personal savior, and the lord of all creation.

The confusion that had plagued me for months melted away, replaced by unshakable faith and supernatural peace.

What you are about to witness, Jesus continued, will be a sign not only for you, but for everyone who has condemned you.

Many who call for your death tonight will call upon my name before this year is over.

” With those words, he began to fade.

But the peace he had given me remained like a living presence in my heart.

What happened over the next three hours can only be described as divine intervention orchestrated by the same God who parted the Red Sea and following exactly one hour after Jesus appeared to him the base.

The chief execution was rushed to the base hospital chest that the executioner Major Tariq received an emergency call that his young daughter had been in a serious accident and was fighting for her life in civilian hospital 2 hours away.

At 5:00 a.

m.

, as guards were scrambling to find replacement officers to carry out my execution, a military convoy arrived at our base carrying General Ibrahim Nazir, the highest ranking officer in our entire regional command.

He brought with him an official stay of execution order from the capital pending a review of my case by the Supreme Military Council.

The guards who brought me this news were as stunned as I was.

In 30 years of military service, none of them had ever heard of such high level intervention in a routine apostasy execution.

But the miracles were just beginning.

At 5:30 a.

m.

, as I sat in my cell processing this impossible reprieve, Sergeant Khalil, one of the guards assigned to monitor me, approached my cell with tears streaming down his face.

Commander, he whispered urgently, “Something supernatural is happening here.

The locks on your cell door have been opening and closing by themselves for the past hour.

None of us can explain it.

” As he spoke, I heard the distinct sound of metal bolts sliding back, and my cell door swung open despite being electronically controlled from a central security station.

The same guard who had just told me about the malfunctioning locks was now staring at an open cell door that should have been impossible to breach.

“Sir,” he said, his voice shaking with awe and fear.

“I think your God is setting you free.

” In that moment, I understood that the Jesus who had appeared to me was not just offering spiritual salvation, but orchestrating my physical deliverance in ways that would leave no doubt about his divine power.

The moment I stepped out of that miraculously opened cell, I knew my old life was completely finished.

Sergeant Khalil stood frozen in the corridor, staring at me with a mixture of terror and wonder.

Commander, what do I do now? He whispered.

The locks are controlled electronically from headquarters.

This is impossible.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes.

Khalil, you’ve just witnessed the power of Jesus Christ.

He has set me free.

not just from this prison, but from the spiritual darkness that has held our people captive for generations.

What happened next was the most supernatural experience of my entire life.

As we walked through the prison corridors, every electronic lock we encountered opened automatically.

Security cameras malfunctioned at precisely the moments we passed beneath them.

Guard stations that should have been occupied were mysteriously empty, as if the personnel had been called away on urgent but unexplained business.

The base alarm system, which should have activated the moment my cell door opened, remained completely silent.

We reached the outer perimeter of the base without encountering a single obstacle at the main gate.

The two guards on duty were both unconscious at their posts, breathing normally, but impossible to wake.

Their weapons lay beside them, and the gate controls were easily accessible.

As I pressed the button to open the massive steel barriers, Sergeant Khalil fell to his knees beside me.

“There is no God but Jesus,” he declared, his voice breaking with emotion.

I have served in this military for 12 years and I have never seen anything like what happened tonight.

I knelt beside him in the dirt outside the base gates as dawn broke over the mountains.

Khalil, do you want to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior? I asked, hardly believing I was speaking these words to a man who had been my guard just hours earlier.

Through tears, he nodded.

Yes.

Right there on the side of the road where I should have been executed at sunrise.

I led my first convert to Christ in the saddest prayer I could.

Jesus, I believe you are the son of God.

I believe those for the transformation face was immediate and undying.

The fear and confusion disappeared, replaced by a piece that reminded me exactly of what I had experienced when Jesus touched my forehead in the cell.

Commander, he said, “I feel completely different inside, like I’ve been carrying a heavy burden my whole life, and someone just lifted it off my shoulders.

” This was my introduction to the miracle of spiritual rebirth that I would witness hundreds of times in the years to come.

A vehicle appeared on the road as if summoned by divine appointment.

The driver was an elderly man named Pastor Ysef, a former Muslim who had converted to Christianity 20 years earlier and now led an underground network of believers throughout our region.

Brother Rashid, he called out as he stopped beside us.

Jesus told me in a dream to come to this exact location at this exact time.

He said I would find two new sons of the kingdom who needed safe passage.

The next several hours were a blur of miraculous provision and protection.

Pastor Ysef drove us through three military checkpoints that should have resulted in our immediate arrest.

At each stop, the guards either waved us through without inspection or were mysteriously absent from their posts.

When we finally reached the hidden cave system where the underground church conducted baptisms, I understood that I was being welcomed into a family I had spent my military career trying to destroy.

The baptism took place in an underground pool fed by a natural spring.

As Pastor Ysef prepared to immerse me in the water, he spoke words that I will never forget.

Rashid Hassan, you are dying to your old life as a Muslim commander and being raised to new life as a soldier in God’s army.

The moment I went under the water, I felt every chain of my former identity breaking away.

When I emerged, I was no longer the man who had served Allah for 37 years.

I was a newborn child of the living God.

Khalil was baptized immediately after me and watching his transformation was almost as powerful as experiencing my own.

This young sergeant who had grown up in strict Islamic tradition was now weeping with joy as he declared his faith in Jesus Christ.

Pastor Ysef, he said, I want to learn everything about following Jesus.

I want to serve him the way I served my military commanders with complete dedication and obedience.

The personal cost of my conversion became clear over the following weeks.

My military pension and all benefits were permanently revoked.

The medals and honors I had earned over 20 years of service were stripped from my record.

Official documents now listed me as a traitor and enemy of the state.

Most painfully, my family was forced to relocate to a distant province where they could escape the social shame of being connected to an apostate.

Zara filed for divorce within a month as Islamic law required and her family demanded.

She was granted full custody of our children and I was forbidden from any contact with them until they reached adulthood and could make their own decisions about maintaining a relationship with their father.

The last letter I received from her was devastating.

Rashid, the man I married died in that prison cell.

I am now a widow raising my children alone.

And they will grow up knowing their father chose a foreign religion over his own family.

Yet even in the midst of losing everything the world considered valuable, I experienced a joy and purpose that surpassed anything I had known during my years of worldly success.

Pastor Ysef began my intensive biblical education immediately teaching me Christian doctrine and theology with the same systematic approach I had once applied to military strategy.

Brother Rashid, he explained, “God did not save you just for your own benefit.

He has plans to listen to someone.

My knowledge of Islamic theology and my background as a respected military commander gave me unique credibility when speaking to Muslims about Christianity.

I could address their deepest theological questions and cultural concerns in ways that uh traditional Christian missionaries could never manage.

when I explained how Jesus fulfilled the prophecies they knew from the Quran or when I described the supernatural peace I had found in Christ compared to the constant striving I had experienced in Islam.

They listened with serious attention.

My first evangelistic opportunity came just two months after my conversion.

We learned that several former soldiers from my unit had been questioning their faith after witnessing the miraculous circumstances of my escape.

Three of them secretly requested a meeting through underground channels.

Wanting to understand what had really happened that night and why I had been willing to die rather than renounce Christianity, the meeting took place in a safe house near the border.

And when I saw these men who had once served under my command, my heart broke with love for them.

Abdullah, Samir, Hassan, I said, addressing each by name.

You know me.

You served with me for years.

You know, I would never embrace a lie or follow a false prophet.

I am here to tell you that everything we were taught about Christianity is wrong.

Jesus Christ is not a weak defeated God.

He is the living son of the almighty and he proved his power by sitting me free from a death sentence no human authority could overturn.

By the end of that uh evening all three men had prayed to accept Jesus as their savior.

Abdullah who had been my second in command for 5 years wept as he confessed his sins and asked Christ to forgive him.

Commander, he said, “If Jesus can save you, he can save anyone.

” That night marked the beginning of what would become my primary ministry.

reaching former military personnel and government officials who were disillusioned with Islam and searching for truth.

The underground church welcomed me not just as a convert, but as a leader whose unique background could open doors that had been closed for generations.

Pastor Ysef began preparing me for formal ministry, but he also recognized that my most effective evangelism would happen through personal relationships with other former Muslims.

God is raising up a new generation of Christian leaders from Islamic backgrounds.

He prophesied over me during one of our prayer meetings.

You are the first of many who will turn from serving earthly kingdoms to advancing the kingdom of heaven.

Looking back on those early months of my Christian life, I realized that God was systematically stripping away everything I had depended on for identity and security while simultaneously filling me with a purpose and joy that made those losses seem insignificant.

I lost my military career, my family, my social standing, and my financial security.

In exchange, I gained eternal life, supernatural peace, divine purpose, and a spiritual family that would never abandon me.

It was the greatest trade in human history, and I would make the same choice again without hesitation.

Six years have passed since uh that miraculous night when Jesus Christ intervened to save my life.

And uh the ministry God has built through my testimony continues to astound me.

What began as one desperate Muslim commander facing uh execution has grown into an underground movement that has brought over 200 former Muslims into the family of Christ.

I now lead a network of house churches, specifically designed for converts from Islamic backgrounds, providing them with the spiritual support and practical protection they need during their dangerous transition to Christianity.

Our main congregation meets in a reinforced basement beneath an old textile factory on the outskirts of the city.

Every Sunday morning to worship the Jesus considering when I look out at their faces during our worship services.

I see my own transformation reflected in each testimony.

There’s Ahmed, a former mosque leader who accepted Christ after his daughter was miraculously healed during one of our prayer meetings.

There’s Fatima, a university professor who converted after studying the historical evidence for Jesus’s resurrection.

There’s Captain Malik who served under my command and followed my example when his own spiritual crisis led him to question everything he had been taught about Christianity.

The persecution we face is constant and severe.

But God’s protection over our community has been supernatural.

Government agents have raided our meeting place seven times in the past 3 years.

Yet they have never found evidence of our activities or arrested any of our members.

Sometimes their surveillance equipment mysteriously malfunctions at crucial moments.

Other times informants who infiltrate our group experience dramatic conversions and end up joining our church instead of reporting our activities.

I have learned to recognize these divine interventions as normal expressions of God’s protective power over his people.

But training other former Muslims to become effective evangelists and church leaders has become my primary calling.

These men and women understand Islamic culture and theology in ways that traditional missionaries never could.

When Hassan, a former government imam, explains to a Muslim family why the Quran actually points toward Jesus Christ, they listen with respect rather than hostility.

When Amina, a former Islamic teacher, shares how she found freedom from the constant fear of Allah’s judgment through Jesus’s grace, other Muslim women weep with recognition of their own spiritual bondage.

The most rewarding aspect of this ministry is witnessing entire families come to Christ together.

Just last month, I had the privilege of baptizing Yasir, his wife Nadia, and their three teenage children in the same underground pool where I was baptized six years ago.

Yaser was a midlevel government official who had been secretly reading a Bible his Christian colleague had given him.

When he finally worked up the courage to attend one of our meetings, he brought his entire family because he didn’t want to face this decision alone.

Watching those five people emerge from the baptismal waters with tears of joy streaming down their faces reminded me once again why God allowed me to lose everything for the sake of the gospel.

The ongoing threats against our lives serve as constant reminders of the supernatural protection we live under daily.

My former military colleagues still consider me a traitor worthy of execution and several death fatwas have been issued against me by regional Islamic councils.

Last year a coordinated uh assassination attempt was thwarted when all three hired killers experienced simultaneous vehicle breakdowns on their way to our safe house.

One of those would be assassins.

Muhammad eventually sought us out to understand why his mission had failed so dramatically.

He accepted Christ that very night and now serves as one of our most effective bodyguards and evangelists.

My personal relationship with my biological family remains complex and painful.

But God has been working miracles even in that impossible situation.

My son Omar, now 21, secretly contacted me through underground channels 6 months ago.

He had been struggling with questions about Islam since his university studies exposed him to comparative religion courses.

When we finally met in person for the first time in 6 years, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Father, I understand now why you were willing to die.

I wonder Jesus you has been the answer.

” [Music] Watching my accept Christ and being baptized was more meaningful to me than any military decoration I ever received.

He now works closely with our ministry using his university connections to reach other young Muslim intellectuals who are questioning their inherited faith.

His mother and sister still refuse contact with either of us.

But Omar and I pray together daily that God will eventually open their hearts as well.

The expansion of our network has created opportunities to impact the broader Islamic community in ways I never imagined possible.

We now operate secret Bible distribution networks that place Christian literature in the hands of spiritually hungry Muslims throughout our region.

Our trained evangelists work as teachers, merchants, and government employees, building relationships, and sharing their testimonies in everyday contexts where formal missionaries could never gain access.

One of our most effective outreach strategies involves uh former military personnel like myself reaching active duty soldiers who are experiencing their own spiritual crisis.

These men know they can trust someone who has walked the same path and faced the same impossible choices.

In the past year alone, 12 active duty officers have secretly joined our fellowship and several are now preparing for the day when they will publicly declare their faith in Christ regardless of the consequences.

Now, I want to ask you something personal, and I hope you’ll listen carefully to what I’m about to say.

I’ve shared my story not to entertain you or to gain your sympathy, but because I believe God has arranged for you to hear this testimony at exactly the right moment in your spiritual journey.

Look into your heart right now and ask yourself this question.

What is keeping you from surrendering your life completely to Jesus Christ? Maybe you’re thinking that your religious background makes Christianity impossible for you to consider.

I thought the same thing.

I believe that converting from Islam to Christianity would be the ultimate betrayal of my family, my culture, and my God.

But I discovered that Jesus Christ isn’t asking you to betray your heritage.

He’s asking you to discover the truth that your heritage has been pointing toward all along.

Perhaps you’re afraid of what following Christ might cost you in terms of relationships, career, or social standing.

I understand that fear completely because I lost everything the world considers valuable when I chose to follow Jesus.

But I’m here to tell you that what Christ offers in exchange for those temporary losses is worth infinitely more than anything this world can provide.

The peace, purpose, and joy I have experienced as a Christian surpass anything I achieved during my years of worldly success.

If God could save a Muslim commander who was facing execution for his faith, what’s stopping him from saving you right now? The same Jesus who appeared in my prison cell is present with you at this very moment, waiting for you to call upon his name.

The same divine power that unlocked my cell doors and delivered me from certain death is available to unlock whatever spiritual prison is holding you captive.

Don’t wait for a death sentence to find eternal life.

Don’t postpone the most important decision you will ever make until circumstances force your hand.

Right now, wherever you are, you can pray a simple prayer that will transform your destiny forever.

Jesus, I believe you are the son of God.

I believe you died for my sins and rose from the dead.

I’m sorry for the way I’ve lived without you and I want you to be the Lord of my life from this moment forward.

If you just prayed that prayer with genuine faith, welcome to the family of God.

You are now my brother or sister in Christ and your name has been written in the book of life.

and begin seek out other [Music] exism is now and providing for you as you follow his son.

Every day you’re silent about your faith, someone else faces eternity without Jesus Christ.

Don’t keep this good news to yourself.

Share your testimony with others who need to hear how God can transform any life, no matter how impossible the circumstances might seem.

The same Christ who turned a Muslim commander into a Christian evangelist is ready to use your story to reach people who will never respond to anyone else’s witness.

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you now and always.

Amen.