My name is Kasim.

I am 28 years old.

Born into the Saudi royal family as a prince.

On August 22nd, 2019, my life changed forever through an impossible divine intervention that shattered everything I believed.

What I’m about to share will shock you because it nearly destroyed me.

First, I was born into unimaginable luxury as the third prince in line to inherit vast oil wealth and political power.

The marble floors of our palace stretched for what seemed like miles, adorned with golden fixtures and priceless Persian rugs that cost more than most people’s homes.

Crystal chandeliers from Austria hung in every room, casting rainbow light across walls decorated with handcrafted Islamic calligraphy.

Servants attended to my every need from the moment I woke until I slept on silk sheets imported from Italy.

This was my normal, my birthright, my prison disguised as paradise.

My days began at dawn with the call to prayer echoing through our private mosque within the palace walls.

I performed my ablutions in a bathroom larger than most apartments using water that flowed from taps made of pure gold.

Five times daily, I prostrated myself on prayer rugs worth thousands of dollars, reciting verses from the Quran that I had memorized since childhood.

By age 12, I could recite the entire holy book from memory, earning praise from Islamic scholars who visited our court.

My father beamed with pride whenever religious leaders commended my devotion and knowledge of Islamic juristprudence.

Education came through the finest private tutors money could buy.

I spoke fluent Arabic, English, French, and German by age 16.

My understanding of Islamic theology surpassed many imams and I could debate complex religious principles with scholars twice my age.

I genuinely believed Allah had blessed me beyond measure choosing me for this privileged position to serve him and lead others in righteousness.

Every morning I thanked Allah for my blessed circumstances and promised to honor him through my wealth and position.

But beneath this golden exterior lay secrets darker than the desert night.

Our family maintained traditions that stretched back centuries.

Practices hidden from the outside world and even from most family members until they reached a certain age.

The preservation of bloodline purity was not just encouraged in our lineage.

It was demanded through ancient customs that modern society would never understand or accept.

When I turned 25, father began dropping hints about my future responsibilities that went beyond managing oil investments or diplomatic relations.

He spoke in cryptic terms about maintaining family honor, preserving genetic superiority, and upholding traditions that had kept our bloodline powerful for over 300 years.

These conversations always took place in his private study, behind thick wooden doors carved with intricate Islamic patterns, where portraits of our ancestors watched from gilded frames.

The weight of expectation grew heavier as months passed.

Father would call me to walk through the palace gardens at sunset, speaking about duty and sacrifice that true royalty must embrace.

He told stories of our great-grandfathers who made difficult choices to ensure family strength and purity.

I listened respectfully as I had been taught.

But something deep in my spirit felt increasingly uneasy about these mysterious obligations he kept mentioning without fully explaining.

My sister, 3 years older than me, began acting strangely during this same period.

Previously outgoing and cheerful, she became withdrawn and spent long hours in silent prayer or reading religious texts alone in her chambers.

When we passed in hallways, her eyes held a sadness I could not understand.

She stopped laughing at my jokes and declined invitations to join family gatherings.

I attributed her behavior to the stress of approaching 30 without marriage, which brought shame to unmarried women in our culture.

The revelation came on a sweltering July morning in 2019 when father summoned me to the throne room where he conducted official business.

The massive chamber intimidated even family members with its towering marble columns and ceiling painted with scenes from Islamic history.

Golden Arabic calligraphy covered the walls proclaiming Allah’s greatness and our family’s divine right to rule.

Father sat on his ornate throne wearing traditional white robes and a ceremonial headpiece reserved for the most solemn occasions.

Ask yourself this question.

What would you do if your deepest faith demanded your greatest sin? Because that morning my father explained that I would marry my sister to preserve our bloodline’s purity and secure our inheritance according to ancient family law.

He spoke calmly as if announcing a business merger or diplomatic treaty while my world collapsed around me like a house built on sand during an earthquake.

Father outlined the historical precedent with scholarly precision, citing examples of our ancestors who had made similar unions to maintain genetic superiority and concentrate wealth within our direct bloodline.

He produced genealogical charts showing how strategic intermarriage had preserved our family’s distinctive features and exceptional intelligence for generations.

Religious justification came through selective interpretations of ancient texts and obscure Islamic legal opinions that most modern scholars would reject.

My sister sat silently beside father’s throne during this announcement.

Her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the marble floor.

She had already been informed, already accepted this fate with the resigned obedience that our culture demanded from women.

Her silence spoke louder than screams would have.

In that moment, I realized her recent withdrawal and sadness stemmed from knowing what awaited us both.

The wedding date was set for September 15th, 2019, giving us two months to prepare for what father called our sacred duty to family honor.

Religious ceremonies would sanctify the union according to his interpretation of Islamic law, while legal documents would ensure our inheritance remained consolidated under one roof.

Father spoke about the blessed children we would produce, carrying forward the purest royal bloodline in the Middle East.

I sat there listening to plans for my future, feeling like a condemned man, hearing his death sentence read in a foreign language.

Every word father spoke made logical sense from his perspective.

Yet every fiber of my being screamed that this was fundamentally wrong.

The education and religious training that had shaped my entire life now felt like chains binding me to a fate worse than death itself.

The first 3 days after father’s announcement passed like a nightmare from which I could not wake.

I walked through the palace corridors in a days, my feet moving automatically while my mind reeled from the impossible reality now facing me.

The familiar marble floors felt foreign beneath my feet.

The golden fixtures seemed to mock me with their cold beauty, and even the call to prayer sounded hollow and distant.

I found myself staring at walls for hours, unable to process the magnitude of what my father expected me to do.

Sleep became impossible during those initial nights.

I would lie on my silk sheets, staring at the ornate ceiling of my bedroom, watching shadows dance across the carved Islamic patterns as moonlight filtered through my windows.

My mind raced in circles, trying to find some logical explanation or escape route that my father might accept.

Perhaps he was testing my faith.

Or maybe this was some elaborate lesson about obedience that would be revealed as unnecessary at the last moment.

But deep in my heart I knew he was deadly serious about this ancient family tradition.

Food lost all taste and appeal.

The elaborate meals prepared by our palace chefs.

Dishes that had once brought me pleasure now turned to ash in my mouth.

I pushed expensive delicacies around my plate during family dinners, unable to swallow more than a few bites, while father discussed wedding preparations with the casual tone he might use to plan a business trip.

My sister sat across from me at these meals, her own plate barely touched, her face a mask of resigned acceptance that terrified me more than open rebellion would have.

Every cell in my body screamed this was wrong.

But my mind had been trained to obey without question since childhood.

The internal conflict felt like being torn in half by opposing forces of equal strength.

My conscience, my natural human instincts.

Everything that felt pure and right within me recoiled from this arrangement with visceral horror.

Yet 28 years of conditioning to respect father’s authority and honor family traditions created an equally powerful force, pulling me toward compliance.

I attempted to find peace through the Islamic practices that had always provided comfort before.

I increased my prayer time, spending extra hours in our private mosque, prostrating myself on the prayer rug until my knees achd and my forehead was raw from touching the marble floor.

I recited verses from the Quran with desperate intensity, hoping Allah would grant me clarity or show me a path through this spiritual wilderness.

But the prayers felt empty, bouncing off the mosque ceiling like echoes in a tomb rather than rising to heaven with the power they once carried.

The palace Imam, a learned scholar who had been my religious instructor since childhood, offered no comfort when I sought his guidance.

I approached him carefully, speaking in hypothetical terms about family obligations that might conflict with personal conscience.

His response chilled me to the bone.

He quoted obscure passages about obedience to parents and the importance of preserving bloodlines according to ancient Islamic interpretations that most modern scholars would reject.

He praised father’s wisdom in maintaining family purity and suggested that my discomfort stemmed from western influences corrupting my pure Islamic thinking.

I spent countless hours in father’s library, searching through religious texts for some passage that might forbid what he was asking of me.

The leatherbound volumes of Islamic juristprudence, commentaries by respected scholars, and historical accounts of early Muslim leaders filled my days with desperate research.

But every text I consulted either remained silent on the specific issue or offered interpretations that could be twisted to support father’s position.

The religious framework that had defined my entire existence seemed to offer no protection from this horror.

Fasting became my next attempt at spiritual clarity.

I stopped eating during daylight hours, hoping that physical deprivation might sharpen my spiritual senses and help me hear Allah’s true will more clearly.

The hunger pangs felt like appropriate punishment for my rebellious thoughts against father’s authority.

Perhaps my resistance to this marriage stemmed from pride or selfishness that needed to be purged through self-denial.

But even extended fasting brought no peace, only physical weakness that made the emotional torment more intense.

Consultations with other Islamic scholars brought the same devastating result.

Father had carefully selected religious authorities who supported his interpretation of family obligations and bloodline preservation.

These learned men with their long beards and scholarly credentials nodded approvingly when father explained our situation in theoretical terms.

They spoke about the greater good of maintaining pure bloodlines, the wisdom of concentrating inheritance and the noble sacrifice required of those chosen for leadership.

Their religious authority crushed any hope I harbored that mainstream Islam might condemn this arrangement.

I was drowning in my own faith and no one could throw me a rope.

The religion that had been my anchor, my source of meaning and direction, now felt like a weight dragging me toward spiritual destruction.

Every prayer felt mechanical.

Every verse I recited seemed hollow, and every religious authority I consulted pushed me deeper into despair.

The God I had worshiped with sincere devotion since childhood remained silent while my world collapsed around me.

My sister and I began having private conversations during this period, speaking in whispers when we could find moments alone without servants or family members nearby.

She revealed her own horror at the situation, admitting that she had known about this expectation for months before father’s official announcement.

Her acceptance was not peace, but resignation born from knowing that rebellion would bring consequences far worse than compliance.

She spoke of other female relatives who had faced similar situations, their stories carefully hidden from younger family members until they too reached the age of obligation.

Both of us recognized the sinfulness of what father demanded.

Yet we felt trapped by duty, tradition, and the massive weight of family expectations that had shaped our entire lives.

We were like prisoners discussing escape while sitting in cells with no doors, no windows, and no hope of outside intervention.

The palace that had been our protection now felt like our tomb.

Beautiful and luxurious, but utterly confining.

Look into your own heart right now.

Have you ever felt betrayed by the very thing you trusted most? Because that was my reality during those dark August days.

The faith that had given my life meaning, the family that had provided security, the tradition that had defined my identity, all conspired to push me towards something that violated every natural instinct Allah had placed within my human heart.

For the first time in my life, I began having forbidden thoughts about other religions, wondering if perhaps Islam did not hold all the answers I had been taught it contained.

The forbidden thoughts began creeping into my mind like shadows at sunset.

slowly at first, then with increasing boldness as my desperation grew deeper.

During the long, sleepless nights of mid August 2019, I found myself wondering about the billions of people who followed different faiths across the world.

Were they all destined for hell simply because they had not been born into the correct religion? Did their gods offer different answers to the moral crisis now consuming my soul? These questions terrified me even as they provided the first glimmer of hope I had felt since father’s devastating announcement.

My private computer became my secret gateway to a world of forbidden knowledge.

The palace had high-speed internet access that father used for international business communications, and my personal laptop gave me unrestricted access to information that would have been unthinkable to seek just weeks earlier.

I waited until the deepest hours of the night when servants slept and family members had retired to their chambers before beginning my clandestine research into other religious traditions.

Christianity appeared in my search results like a beacon cutting through spiritual darkness.

I had heard of Jesus Christ before, of course, but only through Islamic teaching that portrayed him as a prophet inferior to Muhammad, his message corrupted by later followers.

The palace library contained no Christian texts, and our imam had always dismissed Christianity as a distorted version of true monotheism.

But now reading directly from Christian websites and digital Bibles, I encountered a completely different picture of this man called Jesus.

The sermon on the mount stopped me in my tracks as I read it for the first time.

Here was a teacher speaking about love, mercy, and moral purity in ways that resonated with the deepest longings of my heart.

Jesus spoke about treating others as you would want to be treated, about loving your enemies, about the pure in heart being blessed by God.

These words felt like cool water to a man dying of thirst in the desert.

I found myself reading the same passages over and over, amazed by their beauty and wisdom.

But it was Matthew chapter 19 that changed everything for me.

In this passage, religious leaders asked Jesus about marriage and divorce and his response revealed God’s original design for human relationships.

Jesus explained that from the beginning, God made them male and female and that a man would leave his father and mother to be united with his wife.

The word wife struck me like lightning because it clearly implied someone outside his immediate family, not a sister or close relative.

I spent hours that night reading about biblical marriage.

Discovering that Christianity taught marriage was meant to be between unrelated individuals who chose to love each other and build a life together.

The Bible spoke of marriage as a sacred covenant that reflected God’s love for humanity, not a political arrangement to preserve bloodlines or consolidate wealth.

This vision of holy matrimony felt so pure, so right, so completely opposite to what father was demanding of me and my sister.

My research expanded to include the history of Christianity, the lives of early Christians, and testimonies of people who had converted from other religions.

I read about martyrs who had died rather than compromise their faith.

About missionaries who gave up wealth and comfort to serve God, about ordinary people whose lives had been transformed by encountering Jesus Christ.

Their stories of supernatural peace, divine guidance, and spiritual freedom created a hunger in my soul that Islamic practices had never satisfied.

I felt like a man dying of thirst, discovering a hidden spring.

Every Christian truth I uncovered seemed to answer questions I had carried my entire life without even realizing I was searching for solutions.

The concept of grace versus works particularly amazed me.

Christianity taught that salvation came through God’s love and mercy, not through perfect adherence to religious laws or family traditions.

This meant that my worth as a human being did not depend on obeying father’s demands or maintaining family honor through sinful compromise.

The name of Jesus began appearing in my private prayers for the first time in late August.

I started by simply asking if he was real, if he could hear the desperate plea of a Saudi prince trapped in circumstances beyond his control.

To my amazement, praying to Jesus felt completely different from my Islamic prayers.

Instead of the formal recitations and prescribed positions I had practiced since childhood, prayer to Christ felt like talking to a loving friend who actually cared about my personal struggles and moral dilemmas.

That first prayer to Jesus brought an immediate sense of peace unlike anything I had ever experienced during Islamic worship.

The crushing weight of fear and despair that had pressed down on my chest for weeks suddenly lifted, replaced by a warm presence that seemed to wrap around my soul like a comforting embrace.

I had never felt anything remotely similar during 28 years of Muslim prayer, despite my sincere devotion and countless hours spent in Islamic meditation.

Night after night, I continued my secret Christian education, downloading digital copies of the Bible, reading theological explanations of core Christian beliefs, and studying the historical evidence for Jesus Christ’s life, death, and resurrection.

The more I learned, the more convinced I became that I had stumbled upon truth that my Islamic upbringing had hidden from me.

Christianity offered answers to moral questions that Islam had left murky or unanswered, particularly regarding family relationships and personal conscience versus religious obligation.

My sister discovered my research completely by accident during one of our whispered conversations in the palace garden.

I had been careless and left a Christian website open on my laptop screen when she entered my room to discuss wedding preparations.

Instead of being horrified or threatening to report my apostasy to father, she asked me to show her what I had been reading.

Her hunger for truth matched my own, and soon we were both secretly studying Christian teachings together.

We read about biblical families, discovering that God’s design for human relationships was based on love, mutual respect, and healthy boundaries rather than power, control, and genetic manipulation.

The Bible taught that parents should not burden their children with demands that violated God’s moral law and that true obedience to God sometimes required resistance to human authority when the two conflicted.

These revelations felt like prison doors swinging open after years of captivity.

Together, my sister and I began to understand that the marriage father demanded was not just culturally inappropriate or personally distressing, but actually sinful according to biblical standards.

Christianity taught that marriage was meant to reflect the relationship between Christ and the church, a pure union between two people who chose to love each other sacrificially.

What father proposed was a perversion of this sacred institution motivated by greed and pride rather than love and holiness.

Our secret Bible study sessions became the highlight of each day.

Providing hope and spiritual nourishment that sustained us through the increasingly unbearable pressure of wedding preparations.

We learned about prayer, about God’s love for individuals regardless of their family background or social status, and about the possibility of forgiveness and new life through faith in Jesus Christ.

For the first time since Father’s announcement, we began to believe that escape might be possible if God chose to intervene on our behalf.

August 22nd, 2019 dawned like any other morning in our palace with servants bustling through marble corridors preparing for what father had declared would be the most important day in our family’s recent history.

The engagement announcement ceremony was scheduled to begin at noon with religious leaders, government officials, and select family members gathering to witness what father called our sacred union.

Golden decorations adorned every room.

Expensive flowers imported from Holland filled crystal vases.

And the palace kitchen had been preparing elaborate feast dishes for 3 days straight.

I woke before dawn that morning with my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.

This was supposed to be the day my life as I knew it would end forever.

The day I would officially become engaged to my own sister according to ancient family traditions that violated every natural instinct God had placed within me.

The silk sheets that had always provided comfort now felt like burial shrouds, and the luxurious bedroom that represented my privileged status felt more like a prison cell where I awaited execution.

My morning prayers that day were different from any I had ever offered before.

Instead of reciting familiar Arabic verses from the Quran, I found myself crying out to Jesus Christ with desperate honesty about the horror facing me and my sister.

I knelt beside my bed, not on the expensive prayer rug facing Mecca, but simply pouring out my heart to the God I had recently discovered through secret Bible study.

My prayer was raw, unpolished, and completely authentic in ways that Islamic ritual had never allowed.

“Jesus, this is my last hope,” I whispered into the silence of my bedroom.

“If you are the true God, if you have power over earthly kingdoms and family traditions, please save me and my sister from this darkness that is about to destroy our souls.

I do not know how you could possibly intervene in circumstances this impossible.

But I have read that you specialize in doing the impossible for those who call upon your name in faith.

I am calling upon you now with everything I have left.

The prayer lasted nearly an hour during which I confessed my newfound faith in Christ, renounced my allegiance to Islamic traditions that contradicted biblical truth and surrendered my entire future to God’s will regardless of the cost.

I promised Jesus that if he delivered us from this situation, I would spend the rest of my life serving him and sharing the gospel with others trapped in similar darkness.

The presence I felt during that prayer was so tangible, so comforting that I knew beyond doubt that God had heard every word.

My sister joined me in prayer around 8 that morning, slipping quietly into my room when the hallways were empty of servants and family members.

We knelt together beside my bed, two desperate souls crying out to Jesus for miraculous intervention that seemed humanly impossible.

She had been reading Christian testimonies online about God’s supernatural deliverance of people from arranged marriages, forced conversions, and family persecution.

We clung to these stories like drowning people grabbing life preservers, hoping that the same God who had rescued others might show mercy to us as well.

By 10:30 that morning, final preparations for the engagement ceremony were in full swing throughout the palace.

Father had arranged for a prominent imam to conduct religious blessings, government photographers to document the occasion for official records, and caterers to serve an elaborate feast celebrating what he considered the most advantageous union in our family’s history.

Servants rushed through corridors carrying flowers, adjusting decorations, and setting up chairs in the throne room where the announcement would take place.

Then at exactly 10:35 in the morning, the first sign of divine intervention appeared in the form of a massive sandstorm that materialized from absolutely nowhere.

I was standing at my bedroom window, watching servants work in the palace courtyard below, when the horizon suddenly darkened with a wall of sand and wind that stretched from earth to heaven.

Within minutes, the clear August sky had transformed into a churning brown nightmare that blocked out the sun and made outdoor activity completely impossible.

The sandstorm struck our region with unprecedented fury, creating winds that howled like banshees around the palace walls and sand particles so thick that visibility dropped to zero within moments.

Servants who had been working outside came running into the building, their faces covered with cloth, shouting about the sudden weather emergency.

Weather forecasters on television expressed complete bewilderment because their satellite images had shown clear skies with no atmospheric disturbances predicted for our area that day.

At 11:15, just as palace staff were discussing whether to move the engagement ceremony indoors due to the continuing storm, father suddenly collapsed in the throne room while reviewing final arrangements with the imam.

He grabbed his chest, gasping for breath, his face flushed with high fever that had appeared out of nowhere.

The royal physician was summoned immediately, but he could find no medical explanation for father’s sudden illness.

His temperature spiked to dangerous levels.

His breathing became labored, and he lost consciousness despite being in perfect health just minutes earlier.

The palace physician declared father too ill for any public appearances or ceremonial duties, requiring immediate bed rest and constant medical monitoring.

All scheduled events had to be postponed indefinitely while father fought what appeared to be a severe respiratory infection that had struck without warning.

The Imam who was supposed to conduct our engagement blessing was forced to leave immediately to attend his own family emergency.

His elderly mother having suffered a heart attack at the exact moment father fell ill.

But the most miraculous intervention came at exactly 12:30 that afternoon when my sister received an urgent phone call from Oxford University in England.

The admissions officer apologized profusely for the last minute notice, explaining that a full scholarship recipient had withdrawn unexpectedly that morning, and they were offering my sister immediate admission with complete financial support if she could arrive in London within 48 hours.

The scholarship covered tuition, living expenses, and even provided a generous stipend for personal needs.

This opportunity was beyond impossible according to normal circumstances.

Oxford University had rejected my sister’s application months earlier, stating that their programs were completely full with lengthy waiting lists.

International scholarships of this magnitude were reserved for the most exceptional candidates and required extensive application processes lasting many months.

For them to call with a full scholarship offer requiring immediate acceptance and travel was unheard of in academic circles.

My sister and I looked at each other across my bedroom as she finished the phone call.

Both of us recognizing that these events could not possibly be coincidences.

A sudden sandstorm from clear skies, father’s mysterious illness appearing at the exact moment our ceremony was scheduled to begin.

The Imam’s emergency departure, and now a miraculous Oxford scholarship requiring immediate travel to England.

As I watched that impossible sandstorm continuing to rage outside my window, I knew with absolute certainty that Jesus had heard our desperate cry and was moving heaven and earth to deliver us from darkness.

The engagement ceremony was officially postponed indefinitely due to the multiple emergencies and arrangements were made for my sister to travel to England immediately to secure her educational opportunity.

Father, still battling his mysterious fever, weakly gave permission for her departure, believing it would only be temporary until his health recovered and weather conditions improved.

Neither he nor anyone else in our family suspected that this was actually God’s miraculous rescue plan unfolding before our very eyes.

3 days after the miraculous events of August 22nd, when the dust had literally and figuratively settled, I found myself alone in my bedroom facing the most important decision of my life.

Father remained bedridden with his mysterious illness.

My sister was safely on route to London, and the palace had returned to an uneasy quiet that felt pregnant with divine possibility.

The sandstorm had cleared as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind crystalline blue skies that seemed to mock the chaos it had caused.

But in my heart, I knew that God had opened a window of opportunity that might never come again.

On August 25th, 2019, I knelt beside my bed and formally surrendered my life to Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

The words came from the deepest part of my soul, not from any religious script or formal prayer I had memorized, but from a heart that had been completely broken and was ready to be remade according to God’s design.

I confessed that I was a sinner who had spent 28 years following the wrong path.

Despite my sincere religious devotion and moral intentions, I acknowledged that Jesus had died on the cross to pay the penalty for my sins and that only through his sacrifice could I be reconciled to the true God.

The moment I spoke those words of surrender, something supernatural occurred within my spirit that I can only describe as being born again.

It was as if a light switch had been flipped in the darkest room of my soul.

Illuminating corners that had been shrouded in shadows my entire life.

The crushing weight of fear, guilt, and despair that had pressed down on me for months, suddenly lifted, replaced by a piece that surpassed all human understanding.

I felt clean for the first time in my life, forgiven completely, and adopted into God’s eternal family, regardless of my earthly royal status.

The transformation was not merely emotional, but fundamentally spiritual.

Islamic prayers had always felt like performing duty or trying to earn God’s approval through religious works.

But prayer to Jesus felt like talking with a loving father who already accepted me unconditionally.

Reading the Bible became as essential as breathing, with every page revealing new truths about God’s character, his plan for humanity, and his personal love for me as an individual rather than just another religious adherent following prescribed rituals.

That same evening, I connected with my sister via video call from her temporary housing near Oxford University.

The joy on her face when I told her about my conversion was like watching sunrise after the longest night in history.

She had been praying for my salvation during her entire journey to England, asking God to complete the work he had begun in both of our hearts through our desperate circumstances.

Through tears of happiness, she shared that she too had accepted Jesus as her savior during her flight to London, surrendering her life to Christ somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea at 30,000 ft.

Our conversation lasted nearly 4 hours as we marveled at God’s miraculous intervention in our lives.

We discussed the theological implications of our newfound faith, the practical challenges we would face as secret Christians in Muslim families, and the overwhelming gratitude we felt toward Jesus for rescuing us from a fate worse than death.

My sister described her amazement at the kindness of Christian students who had already welcomed her at Oxford, offering friendship and support without knowing anything about her royal background or desperate circumstances.

Learning about biblical salvation by grace rather than works revolutionized my entire understanding of spirituality and human worth.

Islam had taught me that righteousness came through perfect adherence to religious laws, charitable giving, and submission to Allah’s will as interpreted by religious authorities.

Christianity revealed that salvation was a free gift from God received through faith alone, not earned through human effort or family status.

This meant my value as a person had nothing to do with royal bloodlines, accumulated wealth or flawless religious performance.

The concept of being born again particularly amazed me because it addressed the fundamental problem of human nature that Islamic practice had never solved.

Despite years of sincere Islamic devotion, I had always struggled with selfish desires, pride, and moral failures that religious discipline could not eliminate.

Christianity taught that through faith in Christ, God literally gave believers a new spiritual nature, the power to live righteously, and the assurance of eternal life regardless of past mistakes or future imperfections.

Understanding biblical family relationships completely transformed my perspective on the horror father had tried to force upon me and my sister.

The Bible taught that marriage was designed by God to be a covenant between unrelated individuals who chose to love each other sacrificially, creating new families that would reflect Christ’s relationship with the church.

What father had demanded was a perversion of this sacred institution motivated by greed and pride rather than love and holiness, contradicting God’s original design for human flourishing.

Within two weeks of my conversion, God began opening doors for my own escape from Saudi Arabia in ways that could only be described as miraculous.

A business associate of fathers invited me to attend investment meetings in Dubai providing legitimate cover for international travel.

Once in the United Arab Emirates, I contacted Christian organizations that specialized in helping converts from Islam and they guided me through the process of seeking asylum in a western nation where I could practice my faith freely.

Ask yourself this question.

What would you be willing to sacrifice for true spiritual freedom? Because leaving Saudi Arabia meant abandoning everything that had defined my identity for 28 years.

I renounced my claim to royal inheritance worth hundreds of millions of dollars, forfeited my title as prince, and accepted the reality of never seeing most family members again.

But the joy of serving Jesus Christ made these sacrifices feel insignificant compared to the treasure of eternal salvation and spiritual freedom I had gained.

My reunion with my sister in London was one of the most emotional moments of my life.

We embraced as brother and sister in Christ, not as victims of a twisted family tradition, but as children of God who had been rescued from darkness and brought into his marvelous light.

The guilt, shame, and horror that had defined our relationship for months had been completely washed away by Jesus’s blood, replaced with pure familial love that honored God’s design for sibling relationships.

Our first experience attending a Christian church together was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Surrounded by believers who welcomed us as family despite knowing nothing about our backgrounds, we sang hymns of praise to Jesus, heard the gospel preached with power and clarity, and participated in communion as symbols of our new covenant relationship with God.

The diversity of ages, ethnicities, and social backgrounds in that congregation demonstrated the unity that only Christ could create among human beings.

I went from being a trapped prince to a free child of God.

And the contrast could not have been more dramatic.

Royal privileges had provided temporary pleasure but no lasting satisfaction.

While faith in Christ offered eternal joy that circumstances could not diminish.

Wealth had bought luxury but not peace.

While salvation brought spiritual riches that would never fade away.

Family status had demanded conformity to sinful traditions.

While adoption into God’s family provided freedom to live according to divine truth rather than human corruption.

Today, as I share this testimony with you, I am living a life that would have been impossible to imagine during those dark days of August 2019.

God has blessed me with a beautiful Christian wife whom I married in 2021.

A woman who loves Jesus Christ with her whole heart and supports my calling to share the gospel with others trapped in spiritual darkness.

Our wedding was everything a biblical marriage should be.

A celebration of God’s design for holy matrimony between two people who chose to love each other sacrificially.

surrounded by our church family who rejoiced in our union as a reflection of Christ’s love for his bride, the church.

My wife comes from a humble Christian background, the daughter of missionaries who served in Africa for 20 years before returning to establish a ministry for refugees in London.

When I first told her about my royal heritage and the circumstances that led to my conversion, she wept with joy at God’s mercy rather than being impressed by my former wealth or status.

She has never shown the slightest interest in the inheritance I abandoned or the luxurious lifestyle I left behind, finding her treasure in our shared faith and calling to serve Jesus Christ together.

Our marriage has taught me what God intended human relationships to be from the very beginning.

We pray together every morning, study the Bible together each evening, and make decisions based on biblical principles rather than family traditions or cultural expectations.

The pure love we share bears no resemblance to the political arrangement father tried to force upon me and my sister, demonstrating the vast difference between God’s design for marriage and humanity’s corrupted alternatives driven by greed, power, or convenience.

My sister found her own godly husband in 2022.

a brilliant Christian scholar she met at Oxford University who was completing his doctorate in theological studies.

Their courtship was conducted with the highest moral standards guided by biblical principles and church oversight resulting in a marriage that glorifies God and provides a powerful testimony to everyone who knows their story.

She now serves alongside her husband in a ministry that reaches Muslim women with the gospel, using her testimony of God’s miraculous deliverance to demonstrate Christ’s power to break any chain of oppression or tradition.

Both of our spouses come from families who welcomed us with open arms despite knowing about our controversial conversions and the potential dangers associated with our testimonies.

They have never treated us as former royalty or exotic converts, but simply as beloved brothers and sisters in Christ who happen to come from unusual circumstances.

This acceptance has shown us the true meaning of Christian family where relationships are based on spiritual unity rather than blood connections, shared values rather than shared genetics.

The cost of following Jesus has been enormous by worldly standards but insignificant compared to the eternal rewards we have gained through faith in Christ.

When news of our conversions and asylum requests reached Saudi Arabia, father immediately disowned both of us, revoking our titles, cancelling our inheritances, and declaring us dead to the family according to Islamic law regarding apostates.

Our names were removed from all official documents, our portraits taken down from palace walls, and our very existence erased from family history as if we had never been born.

This complete rejection by our earthly family was painful, but not unexpected since Jesus himself warned that following him might require leaving father and mother, brothers and sisters for the sake of the gospel.

We traded a kingdom on earth for citizenship in heaven, exchanging temporary wealth for eternal riches, forfeiting human approval for God’s acceptance, and abandoning earthly security for the unshakable peace that comes from knowing our names are written in the book of life.

The financial adjustment from unlimited wealth to modest living required significant adaptation but brought unexpected blessings that money could never provide.

We learned to find contentment in simple pleasures.

Shared meals with Christian friends, quiet evenings reading scripture together, opportunities to serve others without expecting anything in return.

The anxiety that had plagued me despite royal privileges disappeared completely when I learned to trust God for daily provision rather than relying on inherited wealth or family connections.

Our current ministry focuses primarily on reaching Muslims trapped in harmful traditions, forced marriages, honor-based violence, and religious oppression.

We share our testimonies at churches, conferences, and through online platforms, demonstrating that no situation is too difficult for God to resolve.

When people call upon Jesus with sincere faith, hundreds of Muslims have contacted us after hearing our story, many of whom have accepted Christ as their savior and found freedom from similar circumstances.

The most rewarding aspect of our ministry is supporting other converts who face persecution, rejection, or death threats from family members who view their Christian faith as ultimate betrayal.

We provide practical assistance with asylum applications, connect them with safe housing and employment opportunities, and offer emotional support during the difficult transition from Islam to Christianity.

Having walked this painful path ourselves, we understand the unique challenges faced by Muslims who choose to follow Jesus regardless of the consequences.

We regularly receive death threats from Islamic extremists who view our public testimonies as dangerous to their cause.

But these threats only strengthen our resolve to share the gospel more boldly.

God has protected us from numerous attempts at intimidation and violence, confirming that he has called us to this ministry and will sustain us through whatever opposition we encounter.

The same God who delivered us from forced marriage through miraculous intervention continues to shield us from those who wish us harm.

Our testimonies have been translated into Arabic, Farsy, Udu and other languages spoken in Muslim majority countries reaching people in nations where Christian evangelism is forbidden or punishable by death.

Through secure internet channels and underground networks, our story of God’s miraculous deliverance has encouraged countless Muslims to question their religious traditions and consider the claims of Jesus Christ.

We frequently hear from secret believers who are praying for similar divine intervention in their own impossible circumstances.

The transformation God has accomplished in our lives serves as tangible proof that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Still performing miracles for those who trust in his power and goodness.

We went from being victims of religious oppression to becoming ambassadors of spiritual freedom.

From prisoners of family tradition to evangelists of God’s liberating truth.

From people trapped in darkness to lightbearers for others walking similar paths.

Jesus did not just save me from a wrong marriage.

He saved my soul from eternal separation from God, rescued my sister from a lifetime of shame and abuse, and transformed both of us into instruments of his grace for reaching others with the gospel.

The same divine power that parted the Red Sea for Moses, delivered Daniel from the lion’s den, and raised Jesus from the dead, intervened in our 21st century crisis with supernatural precision and perfect timing.

Look inside your own heart right now.

What traditions, expectations, or circumstances are keeping you from surrendering completely to Jesus Christ? Perhaps you face family pressure to maintain religious practices that contradict biblical truth, cultural obligations that violate your conscience, or personal fears about the cost of following Christ wholeheartedly.

I want you to know that no situation is too difficult for God to resolve when you call upon his name with sincere faith and total surrender.

If Jesus can save a Saudi prince from the darkest tradition imaginable, he can save you from whatever chains are binding your soul.

Whatever circumstances seem impossible to escape, whatever opposition threatens to destroy your faith, the same God who sent a supernatural sandstorm, struck down a powerful king with mysterious illness, and opened doors for miraculous scholarships.

And Asylum Opportunities is still working miracles today for those who trust in his love and power.