In this video, I’m going to tell a story that completely changed my life.

For years, I walked through dark places, my heart full of doubt and a pain that no one saw from the outside.

But it was in my most desperate moment when there was no one else left that something happened.

An unexpected encounter, a light that broke through my darkness, and a truth I never imagined hearing.

What you are about to see here is not just any story.

It is an intimate, true, and deeply moving testimony about courage, faith, and liberation.

If this story touches your heart as it did mine, I invite you to subscribe to the channel and hit the notification bell so you don’t miss the next testimonies.

Also, leave your like.

It greatly helps to spread this message.

And tell me in the comments below what city or country you are watching from.

It will be a joy to know how far this story is reaching.

May this story speak deeply to your heart.

I never imagined I would pronounce the name of Jesus out loud inside the cockpit of a Boeing 777, much less that I would do it while trying to prevent almost 300 people from dying with me in the middle of the sea.

Even today, every time I close my eyes, I can see the instrument panel shaking, the red lights flashing, the alarms sounding like desperate screams.

I remember the smell of burning, the sweat dripping down my face inside the oxygen mask, my hand trembling as I held a control stick that felt dead.

All this happened in minutes or hours.

I still don’t know.

I just know that on that day in the middle of the chaos when everything failed, I said his name and that changed everything.

My name is Nasim Alfariti.

I’m 42 years old and I was a commercial aviation captain for 17 years.

Flying was my life.

It wasn’t just a job.

It was an identity.

Since I first set foot on American soil as a boy and saw a jet crossing the Phoenix sky, I knew my place was up there.

My father wanted me to inherit his construction company, but I chose the skies.

I did my training in the USA.

excelled, returned to Saudi Arabia with the best recommendations and was hired by Saudi Airlines.

I reached the top.

New planes, international roots, the captain’s seat, and through it all, I kept my Muslim faith intact.

I performed all my prayers, respected the fasts, and financially helped the local mosque.

I was in everyone’s eyes an example.

But none of those things prepared me for what I experienced on that flight.

The day of the flight seemed like any other.

I woke up early, reviewed the weather reports, checked the systems while on the ground, and conducted all the pre-flight procedures with the usual precision.

The destination was London, a route I knew like the back of my hand.

There were 283 passengers on board, plus 12 crew members.

A packed but quiet flight.

Clear skies over Arabia.

A forecast of some clouds over Europe.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

We were a little over 2 hours over the Mediterranean between Egypt and Greece when the panel flashed a warning that made me raise an eyebrow.

The right engine was overheating.

Up until that point, it was nothing I hadn’t seen before.

I took a deep breath and initiated the standard monitoring procedures.

But in less than 2 minutes, the situation deteriorated in a way that seemed unreal.

The heat rose to insane levels.

The engine began to expel metal fragments, signs of severe internal wear.

The co-pilot and I shut down engine number two and followed the emergency protocol.

Even with only one engine, the 777 could still fly.

But then came the worst.

The damaged turbine exploded internally.

Fragments struck the hydraulic system.

The fuselage cladding and several electrical cables.

In seconds, we lost cabin pressure.

The alarms went wild.

The oxygen masks dropped over the passengers and the cabin filled with a tense silence only cut by the metallic vibration of the plane falling apart in midair.

I felt everything slipping out of my control.

I pulled the controls hard, but they responded slowly or didn’t respond at all.

The plane began to spiral.

And at that instant, for the first time in all my years of flying, I no longer knew what to do.

I knew this wasn’t just a failure.

It was a death sentence quietly announced.

A disscent that no manual taught how to contain in the cockpit.

Everything felt out of place.

The systems weren’t responding as they should.

The controls were heavy, and the feeling was that the plane was taking us to the bottom of the sea.

not the other way around.

The co-pilot, Khalid, was talking to me, but for moments I barely heard him.

The adrenaline had muffled my hearing.

I still tried to maintain the appearance of calm, but inside I already knew.

We were minutes away from an impact.

And even if no one said anything, that tension spread.

The crew had already realized it wasn’t just turbulence or an isolated problem.

It was serious.

On the screens, I saw that we were losing altitude too fast.

I looked outside and saw only the blue of the sea covering everything.

There was a cruel silence up there, only broken by the sound of the wind forcing the fuselage.

A silence that screamed something was terribly wrong.

It was then that I felt something I had never felt before in my entire career.

I was truly afraid.

A cold fear that paralyzes the chest and makes the mind seize up.

I, who had spent almost two decades training to maintain control, had none left.

My arms achd from pulling the controls.

The panel looked like a carnival of emergency lights.

Khaled looked at me with wide eyes and just said, “Captain, we are going down.

” And in that second, something happened that I still can’t explain.

I let go of my pride.

I let go of my idea of strength.

And without thinking, I pressed the intercom button and spoke for all the passengers to hear.

This is the captain.

I did everything I could.

Now, I’m going to pray.

and I’m going to pray to Jesus.

I don’t even know where that came from, but it’s what came out of my mouth.

For the first time, I spoke the name of Jesus out loud and with faith.

It was strange.

As soon as I finished saying, “Jesus, if you are real, listen to me now.

” The silence that followed was not the same as before.

It wasn’t the silence of the engine shut down or the failing cabin.

It was a different kind of silence, as if time had held its breath.

My hands were still shaking.

The alarms kept flashing, but something inside me calmed down.

It was as if the tension that had been crushing me released for a second.

I didn’t know what to expect.

I didn’t know if the crew was shocked, if the passengers were praying with me, or if they thought I was crazy.

But honestly, at that moment, I just wanted someone to listen to me.

And I’m not talking about air traffic control.

I needed heaven to listen.

I had nothing left.

No plans, no control, no way out.

And then slowly, the plane began to stabilize.

It was subtle.

First, I felt the pressure in the controls return.

Still heavy, but somehow responsive.

Then the lights of some systems stopped flashing.

The hydraulic reading, which was practically zeroed out, rose slightly.

Still in critical condition, but with some strength.

Khaled stared at me, puzzled, and asked what I had done.

I just answered, I prayed, and he fell silent.

The aircraft was still wounded, the systems far from ideal, but now at least we could maintain altitude and direction.

We began communicating with Athens air traffic control and plotted the diversion.

Even without understanding how, we were still flying.

And more than that, for the first time that day, I felt like someone was piloting with me.

And it wasn’t Khaled.

The following minutes were the longest of my life.

We were about 30 minutes from Athens, but anything could happen in that interval.

The systems were still compromised, and at any moment, a new failure could render everything useless.

Even so, something inside me was no longer the same.

I couldn’t explain it, but I felt a strange peace in the midst of the chaos.

I, who should have been panicking, was lucid, focused, present.

It wasn’t as if everything was resolved.

We were still between life and death.

But it was as if I wasn’t alone there.

Every adjustment I made to the controls, every approach calculation, every warning that sounded, I did everything with a kind of calm that was not my own.

It was as if I had borrowed strength from somewhere, or rather from someone.

Meanwhile, the plane still looked like an open wound.

Passengers screamed, cried, some fainted from lack of air.

The flight attendants were doing the impossible to maintain order, but everyone knew that the flight had turned into a potential miracle, or a tragedy foretold.

I saw the sea through the window, the sparse clouds, and thought, “I can’t die like this.

I can’t leave my wife, my children, my name.

” Without knowing, I tried everything.

But at the same time, a part of me no longer thought about reputation.

I just wanted people to live.

And for the first time, I thought that maybe Jesus really existed and that maybe everything that Ryan, my roommate in the US, lived with such simplicity was true, I never valued his faith.

I always thought it was just a personal cultural thing.

But now, at that moment, when nothing else sustained me, only faith was holding me up.

When we finally spotted the runway in Athens, my hands were numb from the effort.

The control stick seemed to weigh tons.

The flap systems were failing, so we couldn’t reduce speed as usual.

I knew the landing would be hard, perhaps even dangerous, but at least we would be on the ground.

The tower gave us immediate authorization.

Rescue teams were already waiting.

I made the last possible manual adjustments, aligned the aircraft, and went with all the strength I had left.

The touchdown was hard.

The landing gear almost didn’t hold, but it did.

The plane jolted as it slowed and finally stopped.

A silence ran through the cabin.

The silence of someone who has just walked away from the brink of death.

I let go of the controls and could only stare straight ahead without reaction.

Khalid was crying.

I couldn’t.

The evacuation was quick.

Passengers left through the emergency slides.

Some limping, others screaming, most in shock.

No one died.

I repeat, no one, only minor injuries and a lot of people trembling with fear.

While everyone was leaving, I remained seated in the captain’s chair.

My hands were still clenched on the control.

I couldn’t let go.

It felt like if I let go, it would all become real.

I remember looking at the still lit panel and thinking, “Did that really happen?” Only after a few minutes, Khaled touched my shoulder and said in a low voice, “What was that, Captain?” I didn’t answer.

I just got up.

My legs were shaky, my body in collapse.

But inside, something was different.

I knew I had done the impossible.

But I also knew I hadn’t been alone.

And that tormented me, moved me, confused me.

I had invoked Jesus, and something had happened.

In the following days, everything turned into a blur.

Journalists tried to interview the passengers.

Airline engineers inspected the plane, and I was called to give technical depositions almost daily.

I was treated as a hero on European soil.

The Greek press published articles with headlines like captain saves 283 lives with miraculous maneuver.

Some said my composure was decisive.

Others used the word divine.

But I knew what happened.

I was there.

I felt the moment everything changed.

And it was right after the prayer.

I tried not to talk much about it at first.

I avoided the subject whenever I could, but the truth is that everyone in the crew knew what I said on the intercom, and it only took one passenger to mention the prayer in a report, and the news spread.

Muslim pilot prays to Jesus during air failure.

That was the title that went around the world.

That’s when everything started to turn against me.

When I returned to Saudi Arabia, I was not greeted with honor or decorations.

Barely had I stepped off the plane when agents were waiting for me.

Not for an interview, but for an interrogation room.

They confiscated my passport, my pilot’s license, my cell phone.

I was placed under house arrest, unable to work, without contact with colleagues, without any official information about what would be done with me.

My father sent me a single message through the family lawyer.

You have dishonored our name.

My wife stopped answering me.

My children stopped appearing in the videos she used to send me.

I was cut off from everything just for having prayed to Jesus, just for having opened my mouth at that moment.

And even so, even with everything collapsing around me, I knew I would do it all again if I had to.

During those weeks locked in my own apartment, without answers, without direction, and without anyone, I started to think too much.

It was as if the plane crash had repeated itself in my personal life, but in slow motion.

Every day, I lost something else.

respect, family, freedom, meaning.

And it was there in the silence of my exile that the words of my prayer began to echo more strongly.

I remembered the moment I said, “Jesus, if you are real.

” And I kept repeating that thought all day long.

“If you are real, show me.

” It wasn’t a rehearsed prayer.

It wasn’t like the ones I learned as a child.

It was raw, sincere, desperate.

The same thing I said up in the air.

I started to repeat, but now with less fear and more intention.

And every time I repeated it, I felt that same peace returning gently, but returning.

I can’t explain what this peace was like.

It wasn’t something that took over the environment or gave me goosebumps.

It was like an internal silence as if someone was listening to me without saying anything, just staying with me.

There was one night in particular when I was sitting on the living room floor, lights off, no sound, just the glow of the clock in the corner of the wall marking 3:00 in the morning.

And there, unable to sleep, I spoke out loud.

I don’t know who you really are, Jesus, but I felt something when I spoke to you.

I didn’t want to convert or betray my parents’ faith.

I just wanted to understand what had happened up in the air because it was real.

The plane responded.

The controls came back.

People lived.

And if all that happened after my prayer, then it couldn’t be a coincidence.

It couldn’t be just technique.

Something or someone was there.

I didn’t have access to the Bible, videos, or anything that could teach me who Jesus truly was.

All I knew came from old memories and fragments of conversations with Ryan, that Christian colleague from Flight Academy.

He always said that Jesus answered those who sought him sincerely.

And I started to test that.

I don’t know if it was faith or just stubbornness.

But every day, even without knowing how to pray, I talked to him without rituals, without formalities.

I just talked.

Simple things like, “Are you there?” or “Why did you listen to me?” or even, “Why me?” And the strangest thing was that every time I opened my mouth like that, the same peace returned.

I spent the whole day surrounded by fear, tension, silence, and abandonment.

But the moment I prayed, even without knowing exactly what to say, something calmed the chaos inside me.

After a while, letters started arriving.

At first, I thought it was a mistake or some kind of trap, but they were real letters from passengers on that flight.

Some simple, just saying, “Thank you for saving us.

” Others longer, more intense.

One of them from a Muslim man almost 80 years old deeply marked me.

He wrote, “I was shocked when I heard your prayer.

I felt betrayed at the time.

But then I saw the plane stabilize.

I saw that we survived.

And I don’t know how to explain it.

But your prayer made me think.

That broke me because it wasn’t just me.

Other people felt it, too.

And every new letter that arrived was another sign that what happened on that flight had touched other lives besides mine.

And deep down I felt that was not an accident.

It was a call.

But like everything in my life back then, the peace didn’t last long.

Soon came the official interrogations.

They started polite but were long, strategic, always the same questions in different versions.

Why did you pray in public? Why did you mention the name of Jesus? Who taught you that? Are you converting? I always answered the same way.

It was a moment of desperation.

I spoke to who I thought could hear me.

But they didn’t accept that answer.

They wanted a culprit, a western infiltration, a political or ideological explanation.

But there wasn’t one.

I wasn’t a missionary.

I wasn’t part of any secret cell.

I was just a pilot who at the most desperate moment of his life spoke the name of Jesus.

And that was enough to accuse me of apostasy.

From then on, everything became more tense.

They treated me as a traitor, a danger to the state.

The sentence came faster than I imagined.

15 years in prison.

I lost my pilot’s license, was declared unfit to exercise any air function, and was marked as an apostate by religious justice.

This in my country is equivalent to civil death.

By this point, my family had completely distanced themselves.

My father didn’t speak to me.

My mother didn’t even send a message.

My children vanished from my life as if they had never existed.

And yet, even inside the prison, even with everything lost, I felt more alive than I had ever been.

I didn’t understand everything about Jesus.

Even today, I don’t.

But the little I experienced was enough to know that he is not an idea nor a religious concept.

He is real.

He heard my voice when no one else did.

And that never left me.

As the weeks passed in the cell, even without a Bible, without a church, without access to anyone who could teach me more, I continued praying alone in silence, sometimes even without words, just sitting there, eyes closed, trying to connect with that presence I met up there, 11,000 m high.

And you know what was the craziest thing? I felt he was there, not with visions, nor with voices, but with that same peace, the one that came along with the control of the plane.

I began to realize that I didn’t just want to be saved from a condemnation or from oblivion.

I wanted to know more.

I wanted to know the one who heard me.

And that just that began to give me the strength to endure each day in there.

It was strange.

I lost everything I built.

But I felt I was finding something I never had.

Until one day, they called me to talk to a lawyer.

He represented an international organization linked to aviation.

He said my case had resonated outside the country.

Pilots, air safety specialists, and even human rights groups were pressuring.

The cockpit recording with my prayer had been heard by people all over the world.

Some people said it was a miracle.

Others said it was just coolheadedness.

But no one could explain how we managed to land the plane under those conditions.

And he told me, “There might be a chance for exile.

It’s not certain, but if it happens, will you accept?” I didn’t even think twice.

I said, “Yes, if I leave here, I want to learn more about Jesus.

I want to live with someone who can show me what that truly means.

” And at that moment, I understood that my life would never go back to what it was before.

A few days after that conversation, they transferred me to an isolation cell.

They said it was for security, but I knew something was about to happen.

I spent three more weeks there without knowing if I would be exiled, judged again, or simply left there until I broke.

But I had already broken before up in the air when I realized I wasn’t God.

That I couldn’t save anyone, not even myself.

And it was in that breaking that Jesus entered.

He didn’t come with lights or thunder.

He came with silence, with simple answers to prayers.

I barely knew how to make.

And that marked me more than any flight system, more than any title I ever had in my life.

I still didn’t have all the answers, but now I knew I didn’t need to have them.

I knew who listened to me, and that was enough.

What happened next was unexpected.

They woke me up at dawn, gave me new clothes, and said, “You’re leaving.

” No explanation, no papers signed.

just a plane waiting for me.

They sent me out of the country to a place where I didn’t know anyone or speak the language well.

But for the first time, I felt truly free.

Without a passport, without a title, without an important last name, without a uniform, just me and this new thirst to know more about this Jesus who answered me when no one else could.

Today I live in a country that welcomed me as a refugee.

I do small jobs, live with little, but I carry with me one thing that no one can take away.

The certainty that I was heard by God and more than that, saved.

Not just from an accident, but from myself.

I don’t tell this story to gain attention.

I tell it because I know there are people going through crashes that have nothing to do with planes.

Internal silent crashes that no one sees.

People who smile on the outside but have lost control on the inside.

And if you are one of them, I can only tell you what I discovered when the world collapsed on top of me.

Jesus listens.

Even if you have never spoken to him before, even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you don’t even know if you believe, he listens.

I am living proof of that.

And even if everything else still seems crumbled, his presence is what keeps me standing to this day.

Sometimes I think about that moment when it all happened.

The sound of metal tearing, the flashing lights, the smell of smoke in the thin air.

I think about the intercom button under my trembling fingers.

And I think about the sentence that came out of my mouth as if someone inside me had pushed it out.

Jesus, if you are real, save us.

And the strangest thing is that after that everything changed.

The plane responded.

The sky felt less heavy.

Death, which was already there with its hand on our shoulder, retreated.

And even today, despite everything I faced afterward, I never managed to fully explain what happened in that instant.

I just know it was real.

As real as the ground I stepped on after that landing, as real as this new heart beating inside me.

And even if no one understands, not even me completely, that prayer changed everything.

And to this day, I’m still trying to understand why.

If there’s one thing I learned from all this, it’s that sometimes life takes away all our control just to show us that we never truly had it.

And when everything fails, when there is no other way out, that’s where true faith begins.

I wasn’t a Christian.

Never was.

But on that day, Jesus heard me and that changed everything.

Now, I want to hear from you.

Have you ever experienced something you still can’t explain today? Have you ever felt saved by something greater? Tell me in the comments here.

I really want to read what you have to share.

If this story spoke to you in some way, if it truly touched you, subscribe to the channel now and hit the notification bell.

This is very important so you don’t miss any of the upcoming testimonies.

And if you want to help this project and don’t know how yet, click the join button down here.

It helps immensely to continue spreading life-changing stories.

And don’t leave the video yet.

The next testimony will appear on the screen here.

and it is even more impactful.

Click to watch.