My name is Prince Ashgar Faruk.

On the 21st of April, 2024, I was sent to one of the world’s most notorious terrorism confinement centers for one reason, reading the Bible.

To my family, the act was an unforgivable betrayal, a sin punishable by complete erasure from existence.

They made sure of it.

They publicly announced my death, held a funeral for an empty coffin, and secretly transported me to a place where even the most dangerous criminals could vanish without a trace.

No one knew where I was.

No one knew what had happened to the son of one of the richest and most powerful families in Saudi Arabia.

I had committed no crime except questioning my faith.

At 28, I had everything.

A future shaped by my family’s name, wealth, and power.

But even amidst the luxury of palaces, servants, and privilege, something inside me began to unravel.

I had been raised to follow the rigid path of Islam, taught to rever my father’s beliefs without question.

But when I came across a forbidden book and an old Bible, I found a truth that struck me to my core.

And for that, my family condemned me.

What they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t foresee was that what they thought would destroy me would become the catalyst for a transformation that would defy everything they had ever known.

I was born into a world where everything was controlled by tradition.

My father, Prince Abdul Raman, was a powerful figure in the royal family, a man whose influence stretched across the kingdom and beyond.

He had been raised to believe that loyalty to the family, the faith, and the traditions of Saudi Arabia were the most important things in life.

As his son, I was expected to follow this path to carry the weight of the family legacy, to preserve our honor, and to represent the kingdom with pride.

But it was a life that came with an invisible cage.

From the moment I could walk, my every move was observed.

I had tutors, advisers, and guards who watched over me.

My education was the best money could buy, but it was also carefully crafted to ensure I stayed within the lines my family had drawn for me.

Religion was at the center of it all.

My father ensured that I was deeply rooted in the teachings of Islam, that I prayed five times a day and recited the Quran by heart.

There was no room for doubt, no room for questioning.

To do so would mean defying everything we stood for.

Growing up in a palace full of servants, luxury, and influence, I was led to believe that I was above ordinary people.

My life was one of ease where everything I could ever need or want was at my fingertips.

I didn’t have to lift a finger.

Yet, even with all the wealth and power, I felt an emptiness inside me.

The more I followed the prescribed path, the more disconnected I felt from the world around me.

I had an older brother, Foiz, who was everything my father wanted in a future heir.

Foes was loyal, devout, and business-savvy, qualities that earned him my father’s unwavering favor.

He was my father’s shadow, and I often found myself in his reflection.

But where Fuys was ruthless in his pursuit of power, I was quieter, more introspective.

Our relationship was marked by rivalry more than brotherhood, as we competed for our father’s approval in a race that never seemed to end.

While Foes inherited the family business, I was groomed for diplomacy, to travel and represent our family abroad.

I didn’t mind this distinction.

It gave me the freedom to explore the world and discover things that were beyond the grasp of my family’s influence.

It was during my time studying abroad at Oxford University in England that everything began to change.

At 18, my father sent me there, believing that the Western world would offer me an education that would sharpen my mind without compromising my faith.

He sent me with a personal imam whose job was to ensure that I stayed true to my religious duties while I navigated the temptations of the west.

It was his hope that I would return home a well-educated worldly diplomat just as he had planned.

But Oxford was not what I expected.

I arrived with an air of superiority.

Convinced that the Western world was morally bankrupt and that I, as a member of the royal family, was immune to its temptations.

But what I found was far more complex than I could have imagined.

I encountered students from every walk of life, Christians, Jews, atheists, and people from religions I had never even heard of.

I had always been taught that Islam was the one true faith, that all other religions were false.

But here, I saw people who were kind, intelligent, and morally upright despite their differing beliefs.

This sent my world into a tail spin.

I began to question everything I had been taught.

I spent hours debating ideas with classmates, challenging my own beliefs and understanding of truth.

I was forced to confront the fact that there were other perspectives, other ways of thinking that had never been part of my sheltered upbringing.

I found myself drawn to ideas that I had once considered dangerous.

And the more I studied, the more I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

Despite the internal turmoil, I maintained my outward devotion to Islam.

I continued to pray, fast, and follow the rituals I had been taught.

But inside, I was becoming someone else.

The questions I had suppressed for years began to surface.

And the more I sought answers, the more I realized I was heading down a path I couldn’t ignore.

It was during this time that I stumbled upon something that would change my life forever.

A Bible.

It was a forbidden book, one that I knew I shouldn’t touch, but I couldn’t resist.

The first time I opened it, I was struck by the words I read.

They were unlike anything I had ever encountered in my religious studies.

The concept of a God who loved unconditionally, who sacrificed his own son for the sins of the world, was both foreign and captivating.

I felt a stirring in my heart that I couldn’t explain.

I wanted to know more, but I also knew that the consequences of seeking this truth could be disastrous.

I began reading the Bible in secret late at night when no one could see.

It became my escape, the only place where I found peace amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

But my family had always kept a close watch on me.

They were aware of my studies and the people I interacted with and they would not tolerate any deviation from the faith.

When they discovered what I had done, the consequences were swift and severe.

In a matter of days, I was erased from existence.

My family announced that I had died in an accident.

A funeral was held for me and my body was buried in an empty coffin.

But I was not dead.

I was alive, but I was now a prisoner, exiled from the life I had known.

I was transported across the world to a place where I would never be found.

The authorities gave me a new identity, one that had been fabricated to make me seem like just another terrorist, a nameless foreign criminal whose life didn’t matter.

I found myself in a place called Sakut, the world’s highest security confinement center.

A prison built to hold the most dangerous criminals.

It was a place where men disappeared and were forgotten.

I had been cast into this hell hole by my own family.

A fate I could never have imagined.

It was here in this dark and oppressive place that I would begin my real journey.

A journey of faith, transformation, and discovery that would shake me to my core.

But even in this place of despair, I was not truly alone.

The Jesus I had read about in that forbidden book, the same Jesus who had called to me in my dreams, was with me.

And what he did next would change everything.

The cold, unyielding walls of Sakut prison became my new reality.

And as I adjusted to the stark, unforgiving environment, I couldn’t help but reflect on the path that had led me here.

I had been stripped of everything, my family, my title, my wealth, and even my name.

In their eyes, I was no longer Ashgar Faruk, a prince of the royal family.

I was simply another nameless prisoner locked away for a crime I had committed against them.

I had embraced a faith that was not my own.

And for that I was sentenced to an existence that seemed designed to break my spirit.

I was surrounded by men whose crimes were as dark as the shadows in the corners of the prison.

Murderers, gang members, and terrorists, the worst of the worst.

They had been sentenced to life here, forgotten by the world, left to rot in isolation.

I too was meant to disappear.

just another casualty of my family’s power and influence.

Yet, as the days bled into weeks and the weeks into months, I began to sense something stirring deep within me.

In a place where hope was a foreign concept, where every prisoner was a broken man, I found an unlikely strength.

It wasn’t in the walls of the prison or in the guard towers that loomed above me, but in the quiet moments when I was alone with my thoughts.

The Jesus I had encountered in that forbidden Bible, the one whose love and sacrifice had turned my world upside down, was still with me.

At first, I doubted it.

How could it be? I had been abandoned by my family, cast away into a living hell.

But as time passed, I realized that the presence I felt was not the absence of God, but his presence in the most unlikely of places.

I had read in the Bible that God was with the brokenhearted, that he was near those who were suffering.

I had no idea that it would be in this place of darkness that I would truly come to understand that truth.

The prison guards barely acknowledged me, treating me like any other inmate.

I was nothing special to them, just a foreigner in a cell meant for the worst criminals.

They would come and go, their footsteps echoing through the long, dim hallways.

But their presence was insignificant in comparison to what I was experiencing within.

The physical pain of confinement, the hunger, the harsh conditions, those were things I could endure.

But the real struggle was internal.

I was battling doubts, questioning my purpose, wondering why I had been placed in this situation at all.

Was this my punishment for abandoning the faith I had been raised to follow had I been wrong to believe that Jesus was the truth? But as the days dragged on, I began to understand something.

My suffering, as unbearable as it was, was not the end of my story.

I had been sent here by my family, by those who thought they could erase me from the world.

But what they didn’t realize was that this was only the beginning.

It wasn’t just about survival.

It was about finding something deeper, something real, something that could not be taken from me.

I started praying again, but this time it was different.

I no longer prayed to Allah the way I had been taught.

Instead, I found myself calling out to Jesus.

I wasn’t sure if it was safe to do so, but it didn’t matter anymore.

I needed his comfort, his strength, and his presence more than I ever had before.

I began speaking to him in the silence of my cell, telling him everything I had kept buried inside.

I spoke of my fears, my doubts, my anger at my family, and my confusion over the choices I had made.

But most of all, I spoke of the longing I felt, the yearning to understand why I was here, why I was still alive, and what purpose this pain could possibly serve.

As the weeks passed, something changed within me.

It was subtle at first, an increasing sense of peace that grew despite my circumstances.

The harsh reality of the prison didn’t change, but I began to feel as though I was no longer alone in it.

There were moments when I felt an overwhelming sense of love and warmth.

Moments when I could almost feel Jesus sitting beside me, comforting me in my despair.

But the real turning point came one day when I found a piece of paper hidden in the folds of my blanket.

It was a scrap of old newsprint, something that had been discarded by one of the other prisoners.

On it were words that I couldn’t quite make out at first, but when I read them, I felt a shiver run through me.

It was a verse from the Bible.

You are not alone.

I am with you always, even to the end of the age.

It was as if God had sent me a message confirming what I had started to feel deep in my heart that he was with me, even here, even now.

The verse seemed to echo in my mind over and over again, and I began to hold on to it as my lifeline.

From that day forward, I began to read the Bible in secret, carefully concealing it from the guards.

The book, once forbidden, had become my source of strength, the one thing I could cling to in a world that seemed bent on breaking me.

And as I read, I discovered more of the promises Jesus had made to his followers.

Promises of peace, of comfort, and of a love that could never be taken away.

It was in this prison, in this place of isolation, that I began to understand the true meaning of faith.

I had come to Sakud expecting to be erased, to be forgotten.

But instead, I had found something greater than anything I had ever imagined.

The truth of Jesus Christ, the hope that he brought, was alive within me.

I had been sent here to disappear.

But instead, I was beginning to understand that my journey had just begun.

As the days blurred into weeks and weeks into months, I began to understand the full extent of the prison’s cruelty.

Sakut was unlike anything I had ever imagined.

The prison was a world where time stood still, where men were reduced to mere shadows of their former selves.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and despair, the fluorescent lights above flickering like a constant reminder of the bleakness that surrounded us.

The guards, cold and indifferent, walked the halls with a sense of authority that made them seem untouchable.

But for me, it was more than the physical confinement that wore me down.

It was the weight of my family’s betrayal.

I had been cast aside, erased from existence.

No one knew where I was.

No one knew what had happened to Ashgar Farooq, the prince.

They believed the lies that my family had spun about my death, my funeral, my disappearance.

But the truth, the truth that I held deep inside me was that I was still alive.

And I was not just alive.

I was beginning to experience something profound in this hell hole that my family had intended to destroy me with.

It was strange really.

In the midst of all this suffering, I started to feel a growing sense of clarity.

My faith in Jesus, the very thing that had gotten me sent to this god-for-saken place, had become my anchor.

I could feel his presence with me more clearly than I had ever felt before.

The pain, the isolation, it was all still there, but I could now see it through a different lens.

I was no longer just a victim of my circumstances.

In some strange way, I felt chosen.

I had been brought to this prison for a reason, though I could not yet comprehend the full extent of it.

But even with my faith growing stronger, I could not escape the realities of the prison.

The conditions were unbearable.

We were fed scraps of food that barely kept us alive, and water was rationed so poorly that many of the men in the cells grew sick from dehydration.

The sound of screams, fights, and violence filled the air day and night as inmates battled for whatever little they had.

In some ways, I became numb to it all, numb to the violence, the cruelty, and the endless suffering.

Yet, in other ways, it all felt too much to bear.

One evening, as I sat alone in my cell, trying to pray quietly without drawing attention to myself, I heard a commotion outside.

I had grown used to the noise of the prison, but this was different.

There was an urgency to it.

A tension that was palpable, even from within my small, dimly lit room.

I pressed my ear to the bars, trying to make out what was happening.

Then I heard the words that sent a chill down my spine.

The prince is alive.

He’s here.

My heart stopped.

How could this be? My family had announced my death to the world.

They had erased me completely.

But now, somehow, the truth was out.

Someone in the prison had figured out who I really was.

And the consequences of that realization would be far worse than anything I had endured up until now.

The guards came for me shortly after.

They didn’t speak much, just roughly grabbed me by the arms and shoved me down the corridor.

I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I knew one thing for certain.

My life as I had known it was over.

They were going to punish me.

They were going to make an example of me.

I had dared to defy the family, to betray the faith.

And now, in the eyes of the people who once held me in the highest regard, I was a traitor.

They took me to the warden’s office, a cold, sterile room that seemed to reflect the icy atmosphere of the prison itself.

I was thrown into a chair, the harsh lights blinding me as I tried to adjust to my surroundings.

In front of me stood the warden, a man who seemed both too calm and too calculating.

His eyes were hard, like those of someone who had seen too much and had long since given up on compassion.

He didn’t say a word at first, just studied me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

The silence was deafening.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

So, your Ashgar Faruk, the prince, the one who’s caused all this trouble, I couldn’t respond.

I didn’t know what to say.

There was no point in denying who I was.

The truth was out.

And now I had to face the consequences.

You think you’re special, don’t you? The warden continued, his voice dripping with disdain.

You think you can just abandon everything, your family, your faith, and walk away and scathed.

You think you can just pick up a Bible and believe whatever you want.

I remained silent.

I had no defense.

What could I say? I had read the Bible.

I had embraced a truth that had brought me to this moment.

But it didn’t matter to him.

To the warden, I was a prisoner.

To him, I was just another criminal, another threat to be dealt with.

The warden’s eyes narrowed.

You’re not going anywhere.

You’ll stay here.

You’ll rot here, just like everyone else.

He turned to the guards who were standing at attention behind me.

Lock him in solitary.

No one speaks to him.

No one looks at him.

He’s nothing now.

As the guards grabbed me again and dragged me away, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words.

In his eyes, I was nothing.

I had no value.

I was just another prisoner locked away in a cage that no one would ever open.

But what the warden didn’t understand, what he couldn’t know was that no matter what he did, no matter how harsh the punishment, my faith in Jesus could never be taken from me.

The walls of the prison might confine my body, but they could never imprison my soul.

The days in solitary confinement blurred together.

I lost track of time, unsure whether it was day or night, as the fluorescent lights above me never flickered off.

In the dark silence of my cell, I could only hear the distant sounds of other prisoners screams, fights, the clanging of metal doors, all of it a constant reminder that I was imprisoned in more ways than one.

They had stripped me of my identity, my name, and now they had begun to strip away my spirit.

Or so they thought.

Solitary confinement was designed to break a man.

It was meant to force him into madness, to rob him of his humanity.

And in those first few days, it worked.

The crushing loneliness, the isolation, the complete and utter darkness of the world around me, it was all too much to bear.

There was no human interaction.

No one to talk to.

I was left alone with my thoughts, and that in itself was the most terrifying part.

My mind was my only companion, and it began to turn on me.

I questioned everything.

I questioned why I had been sent here, why my family had abandoned me.

I wondered if my belief in Jesus had been a mistake.

I had seen the prison as a place of potential transformation.

But now, in the suffocating isolation of my cell, I could no longer feel that light within me.

I began to doubt if it had ever been real.

Had it all been a fleeting illusion? Could a man like me really believe in something so foreign, something that went against everything I had been taught? The physical torment of isolation was brutal.

But the mental and emotional suffering was far worse.

I had no one to talk to, no one to comfort me.

My only solace was the memories of my life before sut the memories of my family, my home, my kingdom.

And with those memories came a deep gnawing pain.

I had been cast aside, betrayed by the very people who had shaped me, who had taught me that loyalty to them was above all else.

My father, the man who had always been so powerful, so sure of his place in the world, had turned his back on me without hesitation.

And in that moment, I wondered if I had ever truly mattered to him at all.

But then something unexpected happened.

One day, as I sat on the cold concrete floor of my cell, trying to hold on to whatever faith I had left, I heard a sound of voice, faint, but unmistakable.

It was soft, almost like a whisper, but it felt different.

It wasn’t a voice from the outside world, from the guards or the other prisoners.

It was something else, something deeper.

I didn’t know where it came from, but I knew what it was.

It was Jesus speaking to me.

The voice was comforting, like the warmth of a sunbeam on a cold day.

It wasn’t the booming, commanding voice I had expected, but a quiet, loving presence that seemed to wrap around me like a blanket.

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they echoed in my mind, clear and unmistakable.

You are not alone.

I have always been with you and I will never leave you.

At first, I didn’t know how to respond.

I had been so consumed by my doubts and fears that I hadn’t even realized how far I had drifted from the truth.

But in that moment, something shifted inside me.

The darkness that had threatened to consume me began to recede.

I could feel at his presence, his peace reaching into the deepest parts of my soul.

I wasn’t alone.

I wasn’t forgotten.

I began to pray again.

But this time, it was different.

I didn’t pray to a God who seemed distant and angry.

I prayed to Jesus, the one who had called me by name, the one who had been with me even in the darkest moments.

I didn’t know why I had been sent to Sakut.

Why I had been betrayed by my family.

Why everything I had once known had been taken from me.

But I knew one thing for certain.

Jesus was with me.

And that was enough.

Days turned into weeks and slowly I began to feel the chains of doubt lifting.

My faith was no longer just something I had been taught.

It was something I had experienced.

And the more I experienced his love, the more I realized that it was all I needed to survive this prison, to survive the betrayal, to survive the pain.

I was not forgotten.

I had not been abandoned.

I was being prepared for something greater, something beyond this prison, beyond the pain.

The guards came for me again, but this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I had nothing left to lose.

They dragged me out of my cell and into another interrogation room, a place I had grown familiar with over the past months.

This time, however, the fear that once gripped me had vanished.

The guards asked questions, demanded answers, but I could feel the strength of Jesus within me holding me steady.

I didn’t have to defend myself.

I didn’t have to fight back.

I simply stood there knowing that my true identity was not defined by the chains around my wrists or the cell I had been placed in.

My identity was in him.

They tried to break me, but I had already been broken by love, by grace, and by a faith that would never let me go.

They could take everything from me.

My name, my family, my freedom, but they could never take my faith.

And that in the end was what would set me free.

The transformation that had begun within me was not something that could be seen on the surface.

I was still imprisoned, still living in the most brutal conditions imaginable, but something had shifted.

It was as though a small light had flickered within me, growing steadily brighter with each passing day.

I could no longer focus on the physical pain or the constant oppressive atmosphere of Sakut.

I was being reshaped not from the outside but from within.

Each day was a struggle.

The isolation, the hunger, the violence, it was all too much to bear at times.

But through it all, I began to sense that I had a purpose here.

I was no longer just a victim of my family’s betrayal or the cruel fate they had sentenced me to.

I had become part of something greater, something I couldn’t fully understand yet, but something that kept me going.

I had found peace in the darkest of places.

One morning, after what felt like weeks of silence, I heard something strange.

It wasn’t the usual sounds of prison life, the distant clanging of metal, the shouting of inmates.

It was something different, something out of place, a voice.

At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me.

But then it came again clearer this time.

I could hear someone praying, and the words they spoke were unlike anything I had ever heard in this prison.

The voice wasn’t coming from the guards or any of the other prisoners I had known.

It was a soft, trembling voice, but it carried a sense of hope that filled the empty space around me.

I stood up from my cot, my heart racing as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

The voice was speaking in Spanish, a language I had learned to understand during my time in the prison.

But the words it spoke were unlike anything I had expected.

“Jesus, I need you,” the voice cried out.

“Come into my heart.

Forgive me.

” The words struck me like a bolt of lightning.

For the first time in months, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me.

Grief, hope, and a strange sense of purpose.

I had no idea who the voice belonged to.

But in that moment, I knew something profound was happening.

It was the beginning of something more than just my own personal transformation.

This was something that would reach beyond me, beyond my cell, and spread like wildfire through the prison.

I didn’t know who the speaker was, but I felt compelled to respond.

I began praying quietly at first, just as I had done in the dark corners of my cell.

I whispered the words, but this time there was something different about my prayer.

It wasn’t just for me anymore.

It was for anyone who had lost hope, for anyone who had been broken by the cruelty of this place.

It was a prayer for all of us, the prisoners who had been forgotten by the world.

As I prayed, I felt the presence of Jesus more clearly than ever before.

His love surrounded me, filling every corner of the room.

And it wasn’t just me.

Something was happening in the prison.

I could sense it.

The hardened criminals who had spent their lives in violence and hatred, the men who had been condemned by society were beginning to change.

The atmosphere in Sakut was shifting slowly but surely.

It was as if a wave of peace had begun to wash over the prison and I was witnessing the start of something extraordinary.

The days that followed were filled with strange and miraculous events.

One by one I saw changes in the men around me.

The gang members, the murderers, the rapists men whose lives had been defined by brutality began to soften.

Their faces once hardened by years of violence began to reflect something new.

They started to listen to each other.

They stopped fighting.

It was as though they had found a new sense of purpose, a new hope in a place where nothing but despair had once existed.

I wasn’t the only one feeling the change.

It spread like wildfire, and soon I found myself speaking to others, sharing what I had learned during my time in Sakut.

It wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t safe.

But there was a growing sense of unity among us, a sense of solidarity in our faith that was impossible to ignore.

We were no longer just prisoners.

We were a community bound together by something greater than our pasts.

One of the first men to approach me was Miguel, a young inmate who had been in Sakut for several years.

He was a member of one of the most dangerous gangs in El Salvador, and his reputation had preceded him.

I had always kept my distance from him, knowing that his kind of violence was not something to be messed with.

But one evening, as I sat quietly in my cell, I heard his voice.

I want to know more about what you’re saying, he said, his voice low but steady about Jesus.

I don’t understand it, but I want to.

I need to, I was stunned.

Miguel was not the type of man who would seek out anything resembling faith.

He had been through more violence and pain than most could ever imagine.

But there he was, standing before me, asking about Jesus.

I didn’t hesitate.

I spoke to him as I had spoken to myself in those early days, explaining the love and grace of Jesus.

I told him that no one was beyond redemption, that Jesus had come for the broken, for the sinners, for the ones who thought they were too far gone.

Miguel listened intently, his eyes fixed on me as though he was trying to comprehend the words I was saying.

As the days passed, Miguel and I began to pray together.

It started slowly, just the two of us, but soon others joined us.

Men who had once mocked the idea of faith now knelt beside us.

Their hearts softened by the presence of Jesus that was filling this dark, wretched place.

It wasn’t easy.

There were many moments of doubt and fear.

Moments when I thought we would be caught, when I feared for our safety.

But the sense of hope that had begun to take root in my heart was unstoppable.

We were witnessing something extraordinary.

And I knew without a doubt that this was just the beginning.

The days that followed were a blur of new beginnings, one after another.

What began as a quiet, solitary prayer in the darkness of my cell had grown into something I couldn’t have imagined.

In the cold, lifeless walls of Sakut prison, a revival had begun.

Not a revival of religion, but a revival of hope that had been buried deep within the hearts of men who had long since lost their way.

The miracles were subtle, but they were undeniable.

Lives were being changed not through power or force, but through faith and the love that Jesus brought to us in this most unlikely place.

Miguel was the first to fully embrace this new faith.

He had been hardened by years of violence.

Yet, when he knelt in front of me that day, his eyes filled with tears, and I knew that something had shifted inside him.

He had found a sense of peace that was incomprehensible to his former self.

It was in that moment that I realized how much I had changed, too.

I wasn’t just surviving anymore.

I was living.

I had found freedom, but it wasn’t the kind of freedom I had once known.

We began to meet more frequently, always in secret, always in the shadows.

At first, it was just a handful of men prisoners like me who had been lost in their own darkness.

But as the weeks passed, more joined us.

Words spread quietly through the prison.

And soon there was a small group of us who met every evening to pray, to read scripture, and to speak of the hope that was now growing within us.

We were no longer just prisoners.

We were brothers bound together by something far greater than the walls that confined us.

We had been brought together by the grace of Jesus Christ, and there was nothing that could take that away.

One evening, as I stood in front of the makeshift congregation, the guards came for me again.

It had become almost routine.

They had heard rumors of our meetings, and they had been growing suspicious.

I didn’t know what would happen, but I didn’t care anymore.

I knew the risks, and yet, I had never felt more alive than in those moments.

Surrounded by men who were beginning to understand the love of Jesus as I had.

This was not a faith I had inherited.

It was a faith I had chosen, a faith that had come to life in me when I needed it most.

They dragged me into the interrogation room once more, the same cold, sterile place where I had been interrogated countless times.

This time, however, I didn’t feel fear.

I felt a sense of calm that I couldn’t explain.

The warden, the same man who had threatened me before, stood across from me, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Enough of this nonsense,” he spat.

“You think you can bring this religion here? Turn this place into a sanctuary.

You’re no different from the criminals in this place.

You’ll be punished like everyone else.

I stood there silently, meeting his gaze.

I didn’t flinch.

The words he spoke were empty to me now.

They had no power over me.

My faith had become my shield.

And I knew that no matter what happened next, I was no longer the same man I had been when I first arrived at Sakut.

You’re not the one who decides my fate, I said calmly, surprising even myself with the strength in my voice.

You may imprison my body, but you cannot imprison my soul.

I am free in Christ.

The warden’s face twisted in anger.

He slammed his fist on the table in front of me.

But I didn’t back down.

I had found something within me that was unshakable.

I had discovered that true freedom had nothing to do with the walls that surrounded me.

It had everything to do with the peace in my heart.

The peace that Jesus had brought to me.

The guards were ordered to take me back to my cell, but I didn’t go quietly.

I walked out of that interrogation room with my head held high.

I had no idea what would happen next, but I knew this much.

They could lock me in a cell, but they could never lock away the love and peace that I had found.

And as I made my way back to my cell, a thought occurred to me, a thought that filled me with hope.

What if this wasn’t just about me? What if this was bigger than my personal redemption? I had come to seekut, broken, lost, and alone.

But in that brokenness, I had found something greater than I could have ever imagined.

I had found Jesus and through him I had found a purpose that reached far beyond these prison walls.

As the days continued to pass, something remarkable happened.

The prison that had once been a place of despair and violence began to transform.

The men who had gathered in secret to pray, to seek forgiveness, to find hope were changing.

The transformation was slow at first, but it was undeniable.

Men who had once been consumed by rage and hatred began to speak with kindness.

The fights that had once erupted over the smallest of things began to cease.

There was a new sense of unity, a new sense of peace that was spreading through the prison.

The guards noticed the change, too.

They couldn’t explain it, but they saw it with their own eyes.

Sukut had always been a place where men came to be broken, where the worst of the worst were confined, never to see the light of day again.

But in the midst of this darkness, a light had begun to shine.

And it wasn’t just me.

It was all of us.

the prisoners, the broken, the forgotten.

One afternoon, as I sat in the common area, a young man approached me.

His face was familiar.

He had been in the prison for as long as I could remember, but he had never spoken to me before.

His name was Hassan, a man who had once been known for his brutal acts of violence.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, sitting down beside me.

“The way you pray, the way you speak.

I don’t understand it, but I want to.

Can you tell me more about Jesus?” My heart raced as I looked at him.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

The moment when my faith would be tested, not just in my own life, but in the lives of others.

I could feel the presence of Jesus with me, his love flowing through me.

And I knew that this was why I had been brought to Sakut.

I smiled at Hassan, my heart filled with a love I had never known.

Of course, I said, “Let me tell you about him.

” In the days that followed my conversation with Hassan, I began to see the impossible unfold before my eyes.

It was no longer just me sitting in a small, isolated cell, clinging to the hope that Jesus was real.

No, something greater was happening, and it was spreading like wildfire.

The men who had once been so hardened, so far gone that no one thought they could ever change, were starting to open their hearts.

They came to me one by one, seeking the same peace that I had found in the darkness.

Each man had his own story, his own pain, his own guilt.

But they all had one thing in common.

They were searching for a way out of the prison they had created for themselves, both inside and out.

I never imagined that this place, this prison, could be the birthplace of something so profound.

Sukud had been designed to break men, to strip them of their dignity, and turn them into nothing more than animals.

But instead of breaking us, it was refining us.

Through Jesus, we were finding redemption.

We were learning that we were not defined by our past mistakes, that we were not defined by the crimes we had committed, but by the grace that was offered to us through Christ.

The men who came to me for guidance were not weak.

They were the strongest of the strong, the ones who had survived the worst of life.

They had been to hell and back.

And yet here they were willing to listen, willing to change.

It was a humbling experience, one that filled me with awe and gratitude.

I knew that the transformation happening in Sakut wasn’t because of me.

It was because of something much greater, something divine.

Jesus was doing what no man could do, what no power could ever accomplish.

He was bringing freedom to the captives.

One evening, as I sat with a group of men, sharing the story of Jesus life, death, and resurrection, something miraculous happened.

The atmosphere in the room changed.

It was as though the walls of the prison had faded away, and we were all standing in the presence of something far greater than ourselves.

The men were listening intently, hanging on every word.

And then, one by one, they began to pray, not out of obligation, not out of fear, but out of a genuine desire to know the truth.

I remember looking around the room that night and seeing men who had been lost in their own darkness.

Men who had once been so filled with hate, now filled with peace.

There was no violence, no anger.

US, a quiet surrender to the love of Jesus.

And it wasn’t just the men in the room who were changed.

I felt it, too.

I felt the presence of God more powerfully than ever before.

His love, his grace.

It wasn’t something I had to earn.

It was something that had been given freely, and it was enough.

The change wasn’t immediate.

It never is, but it was real, and it was spreading.

Word began to get out about what was happening in Sakut.

The prison that had once been a place of hopelessness and despair was now becoming a place of transformation.

Guards began to notice the difference in the men.

They couldn’t explain it, but they saw it with their own eyes.

The violence had decreased.

The anger had subsided.

The atmosphere in the prison was different.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.

And for the first time, I began to see hope in the eyes of men who had once thought there was none left for them.

But even as we experienced this incredible transformation, there were those who resisted.

There were still men in the prison who couldn’t understand what was happening, who couldn’t accept the changes they saw in their fellow inmates.

They mocked us, laughed at us, and tried to tear us down.

But the more they resisted, the stronger our faith became.

We were united in our belief that Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life.

And nothing, not even the mockery of those around us, could take that away.

As time passed, I began to feel a sense of peace that I had never known before.

The pain of my past, the betrayal of my family, the suffering of being locked away in a place that was designed to destroy me, none of it seemed as important as it once had.

I had found something more.

I had found freedom.

I had found Jesus, and that was all I needed.

One day, I was called to the warden’s office again.

This time, I didn’t know what to expect.

Had they discovered what was happening in the prison, were they going to punish us? I had no idea.

But as I walked into the sterile room, I noticed that something was different.

The warden, the man who had once treated me with such disdain, looked at me with a different expression on his face.

There was no anger, no contempt.

There was something else, something I couldn’t place.

“You’ve been a troublemaker,” the warden said, his voice cold, but not as harsh as before.

“But there’s something going on in this prison that I can’t explain.

I don’t know what it is, but the men are different.

They’re calmer.

They’re more peaceful.

I didn’t know how to respond.

The warden was right.

The atmosphere in Sakut had changed, but I wasn’t the one doing it.

It wasn’t me who had the power to change hearts and minds.

It was Jesus.

He had been working in the hearts of the men, transforming them from the inside out.

And I knew that no matter what happened, no matter what the warden decided, that transformation couldn’t be undone.

I’m not sure what you want from me, the warden continued.

But I need to know what’s really going on here.

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

It’s Jesus, I said quietly.

It’s all because of him.

He’s the reason we’ve changed.

The warden looked at me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then he nodded as if he had come to some sort of understanding.

“You can go back to your cell,” he said, his voice softer now.

“Well be watching.

” I didn’t know what would come next.

But I knew this Jesus had come to Sakut for a reason.

And whatever happened, I was no longer just a prisoner.

I was free.

In the final days of my imprisonment, something remarkable happened.

The walls of Sakut, once towering and impenetrable, no longer held the same power over me.

They had always been a symbol of confinement, of hopelessness.

But now they were merely a backdrop to the real change that had taken place within.

My journey, which had begun with betrayal, suffering, and isolation, had led me to a place of peace that I had never known.

As the transformation spread throughout the prison, I began to see more clearly the impact that faith in Jesus had on the hearts of the men around me.

We were no longer just prisoners locked away in a forgotten hell.

We were brothers, united in something far greater than the walls that confined us.

We had found freedom not in our physical release but in the freedom of spirit that only Jesus could bring.

Our lives once defined by sin, regret, and violence had been redefined by love, grace, and forgiveness.

One day, as I walked down the long corridor of Sakut, something unexpected happened.

The door to my cell was unlocked, and I was told that I had been chosen for release.

I didn’t know what to think.

Was this another trick, another way to break me? But as I stepped into the hallway, free from the heavy chains that had once bound me, I realized something profound.

The prison that had once tried to destroy me could no longer hold me.

The man who had entered Sakut, broken and lost, was not the man who was leaving.

I stood outside the gates of Sakut, looking out at the world I had once known, but no longer recognized.

The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the palace, my family, they seemed like a distant memory.

I had been changed in ways I couldn’t fully understand.

But I knew this much.

I was no longer the same man.

I had found my freedom in Jesus.

I had found peace in his love and nothing could take that from me.

As I walked away from the prison, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

I had been through hell, but it was through that suffering that I had found the greatest gift of all, redemption.

Jesus had never left me.

Even in my darkest moments, he had been with me in that cold cell, in the isolation of solitary confinement.

And in the moment of my deepest despair, he had transformed me from the inside out.

And in doing so, he had set me free.

Jesus Christ is the son of God, the savior of the world, who came to earth to offer salvation to all who believe in him.

His life, death, and resurrection are the foundation of the Christian faith.

But what does this mean for us, and what did he truly do? Jesus came to show us the love of God in its purest form.

He lived a life of compassion, healing, and forgiveness, demonstrating the heart of God through his words and actions.

But it was his death on the cross that ultimately revealed the depth of his love.

Jesus, the innocent son of God, took upon himself the sins of the world, bearing the punishment that we deserved.

He died in our place, offering us forgiveness and eternal life through his sacrifice.

But Jesus did not stay dead.

On the third day, he rose from the grave, conquering sin and death forever.

His resurrection was the victory that sealed our hope.

Through him, we are offered the gift of new life, freedom from the bondage of sin, the hope of eternal life with God, and the peace that comes from knowing we are loved beyond measure.

What Jesus did is not just a story of ancient history.

It is a truth that is as real today as it was when he walked the earth.

Jesus came to seek and save the lost, to heal the broken, and to offer hope to the hopeless.

And he did all of this out of love.

Love that knows no boundaries.

Love that is unconditional.

Love that says, “No matter what you’ve done, no matter where you’ve been, you are welcome here.

” In my journey, I discovered that no matter how far I had fallen, no matter how lost I felt, Jesus was there, waiting with open arms.

He met me in my darkest hour, in the depths of my despair, and showed me the way to true freedom.

He didn’t just save me from my circumstances.

He saved me from myself.

He gave me a new identity, one that was no longer defined by the chains of my past, but by the grace of God.

Jesus offers that same salvation to all who come to him.

No one is too far gone.

No one is beyond his reach.

His love is greater than any mistake, any betrayal, or any prison we find ourselves in.

He is the light in the darkness, the hope in the hopelessness, and the freedom that we all desperately seek.

If you, like me, find yourself lost, broken, or searching for meaning, know this.

Jesus is the answer.

He is the way, the truth, and the life.

He has already paid the price for your sins.

And all you need to do is accept his gift of salvation.

Through Jesus, you can find peace, hope, and freedom just as I did in the darkest place imaginable.

I was a prisoner both physically and spiritually but through Jesus I am free and that freedom is available to you