My name is Mariam.

I was 24 years old, a Saudi princess living in luxury beyond imagination.

On September 8th, 2017, I was tied to railway tracks by my own family for one reason.

I had accepted Jesus Christ as my savior.

This is how God saved my life in the most impossible way.

My life as Princess Mariam was everything the world considers perfect.

I lived in a palace that stretched across 15 acres in Riyad with marble floors imported from Italy and chandeliers that cost more than most people earn in their entire lives.

Every morning I woke up in silk sheets worth thousands of dollars, and servants would prepare my bath in a golden bathtub that had been crafted by the finest artisans in Europe.

My closet was the size of most people’s homes, filled with designer gowns from Paris and jewelry that had been in our family for generations.

The wealth was beyond comprehension.

My father owned oil fields that generated millions every single day.

We had private jets stationed around the world, yachts in every major port, and vacation homes on three different continents.

When I wanted something, it appeared within hours.

If I admired a painting in a museum, father would arrange to purchase it for me.

Money was never a consideration for anything because we had more than we could ever spend.

But with all this privilege came enormous responsibility and expectations.

From the moment I could walk, my life was structured around serving Allah and bringing honor to our royal family name.

My father held one of the highest positions in the Saudi court, serving as an adviser to the crown prince himself.

Our family’s reputation was everything, and I was constantly reminded that any mistake I made would reflect poorly on generations of royal blood.

My religious education began when I was only 3 years old.

Every day before dawn, I was awakened for fajger prayers.

I learned to recite the Quran in perfect Arabic, memorizing entire chapters by the time I was 10.

My private Islamic teachers were some of the most respected scholars in the kingdom.

And they drilled into me the importance of complete submission to Allah.

Five times a day without fail, I performed my prayers.

During Ramadan, I fasted from dawn to dusk.

Even as a child, every aspect of my life revolved around Islamic law and tradition.

The expectations placed on me as a princess were suffocating.

I had to dress modestly at all times, speak only when spoken to in the presence of male family members, and maintain perfect behavior that would never bring shame to our family.

My education was carefully controlled.

I studied languages, literature, and mathematics, but only topics that were deemed appropriate for a royal daughter.

Any questioning of Islamic teachings was forbidden.

Doubt was considered a sign of weakness and spiritual corruption.

By the time I reached 24, my father had already arranged my future.

I was to marry Hassan, a wealthy oil executive from another prominent Saudi family.

This man was 15 years older than me, owned refineries across the Middle East, and would provide the perfect political and financial alliance for our families.

I had met him only three times, always under strict supervision, and each conversation lasted less than 30 minutes, but my feelings about the marriage were irrelevant.

This was my duty to Allah, to my family, and to the preservation of our royal lineage.

Have you ever had everything the world could offer, but still felt completely empty inside? That was my reality every single day.

Despite the luxury, despite the wealth, despite the honor of being born into royalty, there was a hollow ache in my chest that nothing could fill.

I performed my prayers mechanically, recited the Quran from memory, and followed every Islamic rule perfectly.

But I felt spiritually dead.

During my private moments, usually late at night when the palace was quiet, I would stare out my bedroom window at the stars and feel overwhelmed by loneliness.

Here I was surrounded by servants and family members.

Yet I felt completely isolated.

I had never experienced genuine love or authentic connection with another person.

Everything in my life was transactional, based on duty, honor, and maintaining appearances.

The marriage arrangement particularly troubled me.

Hassan seemed like a decent enough man, but I felt nothing when I looked at him.

No connection, no affection, certainly no love.

When I dared to mention this to my mother, she looked at me with shock and disappointment.

Love, she explained, was a western concept that had no place in a proper Islamic marriage.

My job was to be obedient, produce male heirs, and manage his household with dignity.

Romantic feelings were irrelevant and possibly even dangerous distractions from serving Allah.

I began to have questions that I was afraid to voice.

If Allah was supposed to be loving and merciful, why did I feel so empty when I prayed to him? If Islam was the path to peace and fulfillment, why did I feel anxious and restless all the time? Why did performing religious duties feel like a burden rather than a blessing? These thoughts terrified me because I had been taught that questioning Islam was tantamount to questioning God himself.

The pressure to be the perfect Muslim princess was crushing.

Every public appearance was scrutinized.

Every word I spoke was analyzed for proper Islamic content.

I smiled when expected, remained silent when appropriate, and played my role flawlessly, but inside I was screaming.

I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of expectations and traditions that seemed designed to keep me spiritually imprisoned.

I thought I knew everything about God because I had memorized his 99 names in Arabic and could recite chapters of the Quran perfectly.

I believed I was serving the Almighty through my devotion to Islamic law and my submission to family authority.

I was convinced that my empty feelings were simply a test of faith that I needed to endure with patience and obedience.

But I was about to discover that I knew absolutely nothing about God at all.

Everything I thought I understood about the divine, about love, about truth, and about my own purpose was about to be turned completely upside down in ways I never could have imagined.

The discovery happened on a Tuesday afternoon in late July.

I was wandering through our palace library, a massive room filled with thousands of books in Arabic, English, and French.

Most were Islamic texts, historical works about Saudi royalty, and carefully selected literature that had been approved by our family’s religious adviserss.

I spent many hours there because reading was one of my few escapes from the suffocating routine of royal duties and marriage preparations.

I was reaching for a book of Persian poetry when my fingers brushed against something unexpected.

Behind a row of thick Islamic commentaries wedged tightly against the back wall was a small black book that I had never seen before.

My heart began racing as I carefully pulled it out and saw the word Bible embossed in gold letters on the cover.

In Saudi Arabia, possessing a Bible was not just illegal.

It was punishable by death.

Someone, probably a foreign diplomat or businessman who had visited our palace, must have hidden it there years ago.

My hands trembled violently as I held this forbidden book.

Everything I had been taught since childhood screamed that I should immediately turn it over to my father or our imam.

The Quran clearly stated that the Bible had been corrupted by Christians and Jews, that its teachings were false, and that reading it could lead a faithful Muslim into spiritual darkness.

But something inside me, a curiosity I had never felt before, made me carefully tuck the Bible under my robes and hurry back to my bedroom.

That first night, I waited until the palace was completely silent.

I locked my bedroom door, turned off all the lights, and used the flashlight on my phone to illuminate the pages.

My heart pounded so loudly I was certain the servants would hear it through the walls.

I opened to a random page and found myself reading words that Jesus had spoken in something called the sermon on the mount.

The very first verse I read completely shattered everything I thought I knew about God.

Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

I read this sentence over and over again.

unable to comprehend what it meant.

In Islam, I had been taught that enemies of Allah deserve punishment and that faithful Muslims should struggle against those who oppose the faith.

The concept of loving people who hurt you was completely foreign to everything I had learned.

How could someone love their enemies? How could that possibly make sense? But as I continued reading, I encountered teaching after teaching that challenged my understanding of God’s character.

Jesus spoke about forgiveness in ways that seemed impossible.

He talked about turning the other cheek when someone strikes you, about giving your coat to someone who steals your shirt, about blessing those who curse you.

These ideas were revolutionary and terrifying because they suggested that God’s nature was fundamentally different from what I had always believed.

Night after night, I returned to this secret reading.

I developed an elaborate system to avoid detection.

I would hide the Bible in different locations around my room, wrapping it in scarves and placing it inside decorative boxes that no servant would think to examine.

During the day, I acted normally, performing my prayers and attending family meals.

But every evening, I felt drawn back to those pages like a moth to flame.

The parables Jesus told were unlike anything in the Quran.

Stories about a father who welcomed home a rebellious son with celebration instead of punishment.

About a shepherd who left 99 sheep to search for one that was lost.

About a god who pursued people with relentless love instead of demanding perfect obedience before showing mercy.

These stories painted a picture of divine love that was completely opposite to the Allah I had worshiped my entire life.

As weeks passed, my secret reading sessions became longer and more intense.

I found myself highlighting verses and writing questions in the margins.

When Jesus said, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

” I felt something stir in my chest that I had never experienced before.

For the first time in my life, I heard about a God who wanted to give rest instead of demanding more work, who offered peace instead of requiring perfect performance.

The most shocking discovery came when I read about Jesus claiming to be the son of God.

In Islam, this was the ultimate blasphemy, their one unforgivable sin called shik.

But as I read the gospels, I saw that Jesus consistently claimed divine authority.

He forgave sins which only God could do.

He accepted worship from his followers.

He said things like before Abraham was I am using the same name that God had given to Moses at the burning bush.

Either Jesus was the greatest liar and blasphemer in history or he was exactly who he claimed to be.

The internal war that began raging in my mind was excruciating.

Everything I had been taught said that believing these things would send me to hell for eternity.

But everything my heart was experiencing said that these words contain more truth and life than anything I had ever encountered.

I felt like I was being torn apart between my Islamic upbringing and this new understanding of God that felt more real and loving than anything I had known.

One night in early September, after reading about Jesus crucifixion and resurrection, I could no longer contain what was happening inside me.

I fell to my knees beside my bed and did something that could have cost me my life.

I prayed to Jesus instead of Allah.

My voice was barely a whisper as I said, “Jesus, if you are real, if you are truly the son of God, please show me the truth about who you are.

I don’t understand what’s happening to me, but I need to know if these things are true.

” The response was immediate and overwhelming.

A peace that I had never experienced in 24 years of Islamic prayers flooded through my entire body.

It felt like warm light was filling every empty space inside me that I didn’t even know existed.

For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely loved.

Not because of my royal status or my religious performance, but simply because I existed.

It was as if Jesus himself was in that room with me, wrapping me in unconditional acceptance and grace.

When was the last time you felt God’s love wash over you like that? Have you ever experienced a moment when you knew beyond any doubt that you were encountering the living God? That night changed everything for me because I realized I had been worshiping a false image of God my entire life.

The Allah of Islam felt distant, demanding, and impossible to please.

But Jesus felt personal, loving, and eager to have a relationship with me.

In that moment, with tears streaming down my face, I whispered the words that would eventually lead to my family trying to kill me.

Jesus, I believe you died for my sins.

I believe you rose from the dead.

I want you to be my Lord and Savior.

I felt chains breaking off my soul that I didn’t even know were there.

24 years of spiritual bondage shattered in an instant, replaced by a freedom and joy that I never knew was possible.

I had no idea that this moment of beautiful surrender would soon lead to the most terrifying night of my life.

For 3 weeks after accepting Jesus as my savior, I lived in a state of secret joy that I had never experienced before.

Every morning I woke up with a lightness in my spirit that made even the most mundane royal duties bearable.

I continued performing my Islamic prayers to maintain appearances.

But inside I was constantly talking to Jesus throughout the day.

The emptiness that had plagued me my entire life was completely gone, replaced by a sense of purpose and love that transformed everything about how I saw the world.

I became incredibly careful about hiding my Bible and my new faith.

I developed an elaborate routine of reading scripture during different times and in different locations to avoid detection.

Sometimes I would read in the library during the servants’s prayer time.

Other occasions in the garden pavilion when I knew my family was occupied with business meetings.

I memorized verses so I could meditate on them throughout the day without needing the physical book.

My relationship with Jesus was growing stronger every single day.

But I knew that discovery would mean certain death.

The betrayal came from the person I trusted most in the world.

Fatima had been my personal servant since I was 16 years old.

She helped me dress, arranged my schedule, and had become something like an older sister to me over the years.

I thought I could trust her with anything because she had kept many of my smaller secrets over the years.

She knew about times I had skipped prayers, moments when I had questioned Islamic teachings, and even my reluctance about the arranged marriage to Hassan.

On September 6th, 2017, I made a fatal mistake.

I had been reading my Bible in bed the night before and fallen asleep with it tucked under my pillow.

When Fatima came to wake me for morning prayers, she discovered it while making the bed.

I watched her face transform from confusion to horror to what looked like fear for my eternal soul.

She held the Bible like it was a poisonous snake, her hands shaking as she stared at me with eyes filled with tears.

“Princess Mariam,” she whispered.

“What is this doing in your bed? Please tell me someone planted this here to frame you.

” The desperate hope in her voice broke my heart because I could see that she genuinely cared about me and was terrified of what this discovery meant.

But I could not lie to her.

Something about my newfound relationship with Jesus made deception impossible even when my life depended on it.

Fatima, I have been reading it for 3 weeks.

I told her quietly.

I believe Jesus Christ is the son of God and I have accepted him as my savior.

The words hung in the air between us like a death sentence.

Her face went completely pale and she began sobbing uncontrollably.

She begged me to recite the shahada, to renounce these blasphemous thoughts, to return to proper Islamic faith before it was too late.

But I could not deny what had happened in my heart.

I cannot go back to worshiping Allah.

I explained to her, “Jesus has shown me what true love looks like, and I will not abandon him.

” Fatima continued weeping as she told me that she had no choice but to report this to my father.

According to Islamic law and her loyalty to our family, concealing apostasy would make her guilty of the same crime.

I understood her position, but it did not make the betrayal hurt any less.

Within two hours, I was summoned to the main family gathering room.

As I walked down the marble corridor toward my fate, I prayed silently to Jesus for strength and courage, I knew that my life, as I had known it, was about to end.

But I also knew that I could not deny the truth that had set me free.

When I entered the room, I saw my entire extended family assembled in a circle.

My father sat in his ornate chair like a judge, preparing to deliver a verdict.

My mother was already crying.

My three brothers stood against the far wall with their arms crossed, looking at me like I had already died.

Two uncles, my grandfather, and several cousins filled the remaining chairs.

Father held up my Bible like it was evidence in a criminal trial.

His voice was cold and controlled as he spoke.

Mariam, explain to your family how this Christian book came to be hidden in your bedroom.

The room was completely silent, except for the sound of my mother’s quiet weeping.

Every eye was focused on me, waiting to hear what I would say.

I could have lied.

I could have claimed that someone had planted it there, that I had found it and was planning to turn it in, that I had no idea how it got there.

But Jesus had transformed my heart in ways that made deception impossible.

Father, I found that Bible in our library 3 weeks ago, I said with a steady voice, that surprised even me.

I have been reading it and I have come to believe that Jesus Christ is a son of God.

I have accepted him as my Lord and Savior and I cannot deny what he has done in my heart.

The silence that followed my confession was deafening.

My grandfather made a choking sound.

One of my uncles shouted and began reciting verses from the Quran.

My mother’s weeping became louder, and my brothers turned away from me as if they could not bear to look at my face.

Father’s reaction was more terrifying than anger would have been.

He remained completely calm and emotionless as he spoke.

“Mariam, do you understand what you have just confessed? You have committed apostasy which is punishable by death according to Islamic law and Saudi justice.

You have brought shame upon our family name that goes back 15 generations.

You have dishonored the royal blood that flows through your veins.

He paused and stared directly into my eyes.

Renounce this blasphemous beliefs immediately.

Ask Allah for forgiveness and never speak of this Christian nonsense again.

Have you ever been in a moment where you knew that your next words would determine the entire course of your life? Standing in that room, surrounded by family members who loved me, but were prepared to disown me.

I felt Jesus’s presence more strongly than ever before.

I knew that denying him would save my earthly life, but destroy my soul.

I knew that confessing him would likely cost me everything I had ever known, but would secure my eternal salvation.

“Father, I cannot renounce Jesus Christ,” I said clearly.

“He is the truth, and he has given me a peace and love that I never found in Islam.

I will not deny him even if it cost me my life.

” My mother collapsed completely at these words, falling to her knees and wailing as if I had already been executed.

My brothers cursed me in Arabic, calling me a traitor and a disgrace.

My grandfather stood up and declared that I was no longer his granddaughter.

But it was my father’s response that sealed my fate.

He stood slowly from his chair, and when he spoke, his voice carried the authority of someone who had made kings and toppled governments.

Mariam, you are no longer my daughter.

You have chosen a dead carpenter over your living family.

You have chosen a false god over the true faith.

Since you are determined to follow this Jesus to your death, we will arrange for you to meet him very soon.

” The room erupted in agreements and Islamic declarations as my family began discussing my execution.

I stood there listening to the people who had raised me and claimed to love me, planning how to end my life.

Yet, even in that moment of absolute terror, I felt Jesus’s peace sustaining me.

I knew I had made the right choice, even though it would cost me everything I had ever known.

That night would be my last night as Princess Mariam of Saudi Arabia.

By dawn, I would either be dead or reborn into a completely new life.

After the family meeting ended, I was escorted to my bedroom by two of my brothers and locked inside.

They stationed guards outside my door to ensure I could not escape during the night.

I spent those final hours in my palace room praying to Jesus and reading my Bible one last time.

Strange peace filled my heart.

Even though I knew I was facing death, I had never felt closer to God than I did during those dark hours, knowing that I might meet him face to face before sunrise.

At 4 in the morning, my father, two brothers, and my uncle Ahmad came to collect me.

They brought no servants or guards because this execution had to remain completely secret.

If word leaked that a Saudi princess had converted to Christianity and been executed by her own family, it would create an international scandal that could damage our family’s reputation permanently.

They told me to dress in simple black clothing without any jewelry or royal insignia.

I was to die as a nameless apostate, not as a princess.

The ride to my execution site took place in complete silence.

I sat in the back seat of father’s black SUV, wedged between my two brothers, who refused to look at me or speak to me.

My father drove while Uncle Ahmad sat in the passenger seat.

occasionally muttering verses from the Quran under his breath.

The desert highway stretched endlessly before us as we drove deeper into the wilderness outside Riyad.

I watched the city lights disappear behind us and knew I would never see them again.

Father had chosen a remote railway line that carried freight trains through the desert several times each week.

It was the perfect location for a secret execution because my body would be completely destroyed by the train, leaving no evidence of what had happened.

To the outside world, Princess Mariam would simply vanish without explanation.

My family would claim that I had died in a private accident, or perhaps that I had run away with a lover to bring shame upon their name.

When we reached the railway crossing, the sun had not yet begun to rise.

The desert was completely black except for our headlights illuminating the steel tracks that stretched into infinity in both directions.

Father parked the vehicle about 50 m from the tracks and turned off the engine.

The silence was absolute except for the sound of wind blowing across the sand.

I could smell the metallic scent of the railway lines mixed with the dry desert air.

My father finally spoke to me for the first time during the entire journey.

Mariam, this is your final opportunity to save your life and restore honor to our family.

Renounce Jesus Christ.

Ask Allah for forgiveness and promise never to speak of Christianity again.

If you do this now, we will return home and arrange for you to marry Hassan immediately.

Your apostasy will be forgotten.

His voice carried a mixture of authority and what might have been genuine sadness.

Despite everything, I believe he truly hoped I would recount so he would not have to kill his own daughter.

But three weeks of knowing Jesus had changed my heart in ways that made denial impossible.

Father, I cannot deny the Son of God who died for my sins and rose from the dead.

Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and I will not abandon him even to save my life.

These words sealed my fate completely.

Father nodded grimly and motioned for my brothers to remove me from the vehicle.

They dragged me to the railway tracks and forced me to lie down with my back against the cold steel rails.

The metal was rough and uncomfortable against my spine, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional agony of watching my own family prepare to murder me.

My brothers produced thick rope that they had brought specifically for this purpose.

They tied my hands to one rail and my feet to the other, securing the knot so tightly that the rope cut into my skin.

Uncle Ahmad checked his watch and announced that the next freight train was scheduled to pass through this section at approximately 5:30 in the morning.

We had arrived at 4:45, which meant I had about 45 minutes to lie on those tracks before the train would end my life.

Father stood over me as my brothers finished securing the ropes.

His final words to me were burned into my memory forever.

“You have chosen a false god over your family who loved you,” he said with cold finality.

You have brought shame upon 15 generations of royal blood.

When that rain comes, remember that you chose this death by refusing to honor Allah and obey your father.

” He turned and walked back toward the SUV without looking at me again.

My brothers followed him in silence.

None of them said goodbye or expressed any love or regret about what they were doing.

I watched the taillights of their vehicle disappear into the darkness, leaving me completely alone in the desert.

The reality of my situation hit me with full force as I tested the ropes and found them absolutely secure.

There was no possibility of escape.

No one knew where I was.

No rescue was coming.

In less than an hour, a freight train would crush my body and scatter the pieces across miles of desert track.

The physical discomfort of lying on the railway tracks became more intense as minutes passed.

The steel rails were not designed for human comfort, and the rough metal pressed painfully against my back and shoulders.

The ropes around my wrists and ankles grew tighter as I unconsciously struggled against them.

The desert air was cold in the pre-dawn hours, and I began shivering uncontrollably as both fear and temperature worked against me, but the emotional pain far exceeded any physical discomfort.

These were the people who had raised me, who had claimed to love me, who had celebrated my birth and protected me throughout my childhood.

Now they were willing to watch me be torn apart by a train because I had found true peace and joy in Jesus Christ.

The twisted logic of religious extremism had turned my family into executioners who believed they were serving God by murdering their own daughter.

As I lay there in the darkness, I began to hear a faint rumbling in the distance.

My heart started racing as I realized that the train was approaching much earlier than expected.

The vibration in the tracks grew stronger, and I could see a single headlight appearing on the horizon like a deadly star.

The sound grew louder and more terrifying with each passing moment.

I closed my eyes and began praying to Jesus with more desperation than I had ever prayed about anything in my life.

Jesus, I’m about to die for believing in you.

Please give me courage to face this death without denying you.

Please take care of my soul and receive me into your presence.

I trust you completely even though I am terrified.

Tears streamed down my face as I felt the tracks beginning to vibrate more violently beneath my body.

The train whistle echoed across the desert, a haunting sound that seemed to announce my approaching death.

I could now see the bright headlight clearly, and I estimated that I had less than 10 minutes before the massive freight train would reach my position.

The sound was becoming deafening, and the vibration in the tracks was so strong that my entire body was shaking.

In that moment of absolute terror and complete helplessness, I experienced something that I can only describe as supernatural peace.

Even as death approached at tremendous speed, I felt Jesus’ presence surrounding me like a protective embrace.

I was not alone in that desert.

The son of God was with me.

And whether I lived or died, I belonged to him forever.

I surrendered my life completely to his will and prepared to meet my savior face to face.

The train’s headlight grew brighter and more terrifying with each passing second.

I could now hear the rhythmic clacking of wheels against steel rails, mixing with the deep rumble of the massive diesel engines.

The vibration beneath my body was so intense that I felt like the tracks were trying to shake me loose, but the ropes held me firmly in place.

I estimated that I had perhaps 5 minutes before the freight train would reach my position and end my life in the most violent way imaginable.

I squeezed my eyes shut and continued praying to Jesus with every fiber of my being.

Lord, I am about to die for your name.

Please receive my spirit and help me to honor you even in my death.

The sound of the approaching train was becoming overwhelming, drowning out even my own thoughts.

I could feel the wind created by the massive locomotive beginning to reach me, carrying the smell of diesel fuel and hot metal.

Suddenly, in the midst of this deafening chaos, I heard something impossible.

A human voice spoke clearly above the noise of the approaching train, saying simply, “Be still.

” The voice was calm and authoritative, with a quality that seemed to cut through the mechanical roar like a sword through silk.

I opened my eyes in shock and saw a figure standing beside the railway tracks just a few feet away from where I lay bound.

The figure was a tall man dressed in flowing white robes that seemed to glow with their own light despite the pre-dawn darkness.

His face was somehow difficult to focus on, not because it was unclear, but because looking at it felt like trying to stare directly at the sun, he had an presence of absolute peace and authority that immediately calmed my racing heart.

Even though death was still rushing toward me at tremendous speed, without speaking another word, this mysterious figure knelt beside me and began untying the ropes that bound my hands and feet to the railway tracks.

His movements were swift and efficient, but there was something supernatural about the way the knots simply dissolved under his touch.

Ropes that my brothers had tied so tightly that they cut into my skin came loose instantly as if they had never been secured at all.

“Who are you?” I whispered as he freed my hands from the steel rail.

But he did not answer with words.

Instead, when I looked into his eyes, I saw a love so pure and overwhelming that I knew immediately who he was.

This was no ordinary man.

This was Jesus Christ himself come to rescue his daughter from certain death.

The realization filled me with such joy and awe that I forgot about the approaching train for a moment.

In less than 30 seconds I was completely free from the ropes and standing safely beside the railway tracks.

The mysterious figure helped me to my feet with gentle hands that felt warm despite the cold desert air.

I looked toward the approaching train and realized that it was now less than 2 minutes away from the spot where I had been lying.

The headlight was blindingly bright and the noise was so loud that normal conversation would have been impossible.

But this was no normal conversation.

The figure placed his hand on my shoulder and spoke again.

And somehow his voice was perfectly clear despite the deafening roar of the locomotive.

“I have plans for you, my daughter,” he said with infinite tenderness.

“Your family meant this for evil, but I will use it for good.

You will tell many people about my love, and through your testimony, many will come to know me.

” The freight train thundered past the exact spot where I had been lying just moments before.

It was a massive cargo train with more than 50 cars loaded with containers and oil tanks.

The ground shook beneath our feet as hundreds of tons of steel roared past at highway speed.

The wind created by its passage was so powerful that it knocked me backward, and I would have fallen if the mysterious figure had not steadied me with his strong hands.

As the train passed, I turned to thank the man who had saved my life.

But he was no longer there.

I spawn around in every direction, searching the empty desert landscape, but he had vanished completely.

There was no place he could have gone, no vehicle he could have used to escape, no explanation for his sudden disappearance.

One moment he had been standing right beside me, and the next moment I was completely alone in the desert, with the sound of the departing train fading into the distance.

The reality of what had just happened hit me like a physical blow.

Jesus Christ, the son of the living God, had personally intervened to save my life.

He had sent an angel, or perhaps had come himself, to untie the ropes and rescue me from certain death.

The same Jesus who had calmed storms on the Sea of Galilee, who had raised Lazarus from the dead, who had conquered death itself through his resurrection, had reached down from heaven to save one Saudi princess who had dared to believe in him.

I fell to my knees in the sand beside the railway tracks and began weeping with a mixture of gratitude, relief, and overwhelming love.

For 24 years, I had worshiped a distant Allah who demanded perfect obedience but offered no personal relationship.

But Jesus had not only revealed himself to me through the Bible, he had physically rescued me when I needed him most.

This was not the God of Islam who remained aloof and unreachable.

This was Emmanuel, God with us, who loved his children enough to intervene miraculously in their most desperate moments.

Tell me, that is not the power of God working in someone’s life.

Have you ever experienced divine intervention so clear and undeniable that it changed your understanding of who God really is? That morning in the Saudi desert, I encountered the living Christ in a way that removed every doubt I had ever harbored about his reality, his power, and his love for those who belong to him.

As I knelt there in the sand, I heard the sound of vehicles approaching from the direction of the city.

My heart began racing again as I realized that my family might be returning to check on my execution or to collect my remains.

I had to escape immediately, but I was in the middle of the desert with no transportation and no idea which direction to go for safety.

But Jesus, who had just performed an impossible miracle to save my life, was not finished providing for me.

As the sound of the approaching vehicles grew louder, I saw headlights coming from the opposite direction.

A small pickup truck was driving along a desert road that I had not noticed in the darkness.

The timing was too perfect to be coincidental.

I ran toward the road and began waving my arms desperately.

The truck slowed and stopped, and I saw that the driver was an elderly Beduin man who looked at me with concern and compassion.

In broken Arabic mixed with English, I explained that I was in danger and needed help reaching the city.

He did not ask questions about why a young woman was alone in the desert before dawn.

He simply motioned for me to get into his truck and began driving toward Riyad.

During that silent ride back to the city, I reflected on the miraculous events of the past hour.

My family had tied me to railway tracks and left me to die for becoming a Christian.

But the God I now served had intervened supernaturally to save my life and provide a way of escape.

The contrast between the hatred of my earthly family and the love of my heavenly father could not have been more stark or more powerful.

I knew that my old life was completely over.

I could never return to the palace, never see my family again, never reclaim my identity as Princess Mariam of Saudi Arabia.

But I had gained something infinitely more valuable.

I had experienced the reality of Jesus Christ in the most dramatic way possible, and I knew with absolute certainty that he would never leave me or forsake me.

My new life as a follower of Christ was about to begin.

The elderly Bedawin man dropped me off at a safe house in Riyad that was operated by an underground network of Christian believers.

I had no idea such a network even existed in Saudi Arabia.

But God had orchestrated every detail of my escape perfectly.

Within hours of my miraculous rescue from the railway tracks, I was connected with believers who had been secretly helping converts from Islam find safety and new lives in countries where they could worship Jesus freely.

The safe house was a modest apartment in an older part of the city run by a Filipino woman named Grace who worked as a domestic helper for a wealthy Saudi family.

She risked her own life every day by providing shelter for people like me who had fled Islamic persecution.

When I arrived at her door, still wearing the black clothes I had been executed in, she took one look at my face and knew exactly what had happened.

Without asking a single question, she pulled me inside, fed me, and began making arrangements for me to leave Saudi Arabia permanently.

Grace explained that I had approximately 24 hours before my family would discover that my execution had failed and begin searching for me.

They would check hospitals, police stations, and airports first so I could not escape through normal channels.

The underground network had developed sophisticated methods for smuggling Christian converts across borders using routes that avoided official checkpoints and government surveillance.

That evening, hidden in Grace’s apartment while she attended to her regular job, I experienced my first moments of true freedom to worship Jesus without fear.

I knelt on the floor of her small living room and prayed openly to my savior, thanking him not only for saving my life, but for revealing himself to me in such an undeniable way.

The memory of that mysterious figure in white robes untying my bonds would remain vivid in my mind forever.

A constant reminder that I served a God who personally intervened in the lives of his children.

The next morning, grace connected me with a truck driver who transported goods across the border into Jordan.

I was hidden in a secret compartment beneath a load of dates and spices, cramped and uncomfortable, but filled with anticipation about the new life that awaited me.

As we crossed the Saudi border for the last time, I realized that Princess Mariam had died on those railway tracks, even though my body had been spared.

The woman making this journey was someone completely new.

a daughter of the King of Kings rather than a Saudi royal.

The journey to safety took three days and involved multiple vehicles, safe houses, and border crossings.

Each person who helped me was risking their own life and freedom to assist someone they had never met before simply because we shared faith in Jesus Christ.

I began to understand what it meant to be part of a global family of believers that transcended national boundaries, ethnic differences, and social classes.

These ordinary people displayed more genuine love toward me than my own biological family had ever shown.

My first real taste of religious freedom came when I arrived at a refugee center in Lebanon that specialized in helping former Muslims who had converted to Christianity for the first time in my life.

I was surrounded by people who understood exactly what I had experienced.

They had stories of rejection, persecution, and miraculous escape that paralleled my own journey.

Most importantly, they had found peace and purpose in their new lives as followers of Christ.

The center arranged for me to be baptized in the Mediterranean Sea on a quiet beach outside Beirut.

As I went under that water, I felt like every trace of my old identity was being washed away forever.

When I came up from the water gasping and laughing with joy, I knew that Princess Mariam of Saudi Arabia had been buried and that Mariam, daughter of God, had been resurrected to new life.

The symbolism was perfect because it mirrored exactly what Jesus had done for me spiritually when I first believed in him.

Within six months, I had been granted asylum by a western country that provided protection for religious refugees.

I cannot reveal which country for security reasons, but I can tell you that experiencing genuine religious freedom for the first time was more intoxicating than any luxury I had enjoyed as Saudi royalty.

Being able to own a Bible openly, to attend church services without fear, to pray to Jesus in public, and to share my faith with others felt like breathing freely after a lifetime of suffocation.

Learning to live as an ordinary citizen rather than a princess required major adjustments.

I had to learn practical skills that royal servants had always handled for me like grocery shopping, cooking, managing finances, and using public transportation.

But every mundane task felt like a celebration of freedom because I was doing it as a follower of Jesus rather than a prisoner of Islamic law.

The most difficult aspect of my new life was the complete separation from my biological family.

My father had issued a statement claiming that I had died in a private accident.

So officially, Princess Mariam no longer existed.

My mother, brothers, and extended family were forbidden from mentioning my name or acknowledging that I had ever lived.

In their minds, I had committed the ultimate betrayal by choosing Jesus over family loyalty and Islamic faith.

But God had given me a new family that was far better than the one I had lost.

The Christian community that surrounded me provided more genuine love, support, and encouragement than I had ever received from my biological relatives.

These believers cared about my spiritual growth and emotional healing rather than my ability to bring honor to their reputation.

For the first time in my life, I felt valued for who I was as a person rather than for my royal status or religious performance.

My new purpose became sharing my testimony with other Muslims who were curious about Christianity.

I began speaking at churches, refugee centers, and conferences, telling the story of how Jesus had revealed himself to a Saudi princess and literally saved her life when her own family tried to kill her.

Every time I shared this testimony, I saw people’s faces transform as they realize the power and reality of the God we serve.

Look inside your own heart right now.

What is keeping you from surrendering everything to Jesus Christ? Is it fear of what your family might think? Concern about losing your social status or financial security? Worry about persecution or rejection? I understand all of those fears because I have faced them in the most extreme way possible.

But I am here to tell you that whatever you might lose by following Jesus is nothing compared to what you will gain.

I lost my earthly family, my royal title, my inheritance, my homeland, and my old identity.

But I gained an eternal father who loves me unconditionally, a savior who died for my sins, a purpose that will last forever, and a peace that surpasses all understanding.

Today I work with other former Muslims who have converted to Christianity, helping them navigate the challenges of religious persecution and cultural transition.

Every person I help represents another victory over the forces of darkness that tried to silence my testimony by tying me to those railway tracks.

Satan meant to destroy me that morning in the Saudi desert, but God used it to launch a ministry that has reached thousands of people with the gospel.

If Jesus can save a Saudi princess who was tied to railway tracks by her own family, he can save anyone.

He can save you.

No matter what your background, what sins you have committed, or what obstacles you think stand in your way, the same Jesus who sent an angel to untie my ropes is waiting to set you free from whatever spiritual bondage is keeping you from experiencing his love.

I am no longer Princess Mariam of Saudi Arabia.

I am Mariam, daughter of the most high God, servant of Jesus Christ, and living testimony to his miraculous saving power.

Jesus Christ died for your sins, too, and he is calling you to accept him as your Lord and Savior today.

Will you surrender your life to him right now, just as I did on that September night when everything changed forever? Pray with me if you want Jesus to save your life and give you the same peace and purpose that he has given to me.

He is waiting for you with open arms, ready to transform your heart and give you a new beginning that will last for all eternity.