On September 12th, 2018, my own father put a gold-plated pistol on the table between us.

The metal made a heavy sound against the marble surface, a sound that echoes in my nightmares to this day.

He looked me in the eyes, not with the love of a parent, but with the cold calculation of a monarch, and gave me an impossible choice.

Share your wife with me or die.

I want you to truly imagine that moment.

I was a Saudi prince.

I had billions of dollars at my disposal.

I had servants who would bow if I simply cleared my throat.

But in that room, staring at that gun, I was the poorest man on earth.

I had 24 hours to make a decision that would either end my life or destroy my soul.

But I am telling you this story today not to talk about the darkness of my father, but to tell you about the light that entered that locked room.

Because what happened next did not just break the laws of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

It broke the laws of nature itself.

If you are facing a situation right now that looks impossible, if you feel like you are trapped in a room with no doors, I urge you to listen to this testimony until the very end.

Because the same God who walked through the walls of a Saudi palace is ready to walk into your situation today.

My name is Nur and this is the story of how I lost a kingdom to find a king.

To understand the horror of that night, you first have to understand the world I was born into.

Most people see the photos of Riad, the skyscrapers, the luxury cars, the gold accessories, and they think it must be paradise.

I was born in 1990 into the inner circle of the royal family.

My childhood was not spent in a house.

It was spent in a universe of marble and silk.

I grew up believing that the world existed to serve me.

If I dropped a toy, a servant would pick it up before I could even blink.

If I wanted a specific meal, it appeared as if by magic.

I never learned the word no until I was a grown man.

But there is a poverty that money cannot fix.

It is the poverty of the soul.

You see, the palace wasn’t just a home.

It was a training ground.

From the moment I could walk, I was groomed to be the perfect specimen of Islamic leadership.

My father was a powerful man, a man who commanded respect, not through love, but through fear.

He was obsessed with reputation.

To him, I wasn’t a son.

I was an asset.

I was an extension of his power.

My education was rigorous.

I spent hours every single day memorizing the Quran.

I studied Sharia law until I could recite the punishments for every sin by heart.

I was taught that Alo was great and powerful, but he was distant.

He was a master and we were his slaves.

I prayed five times a day, pressing my forehead to the cold floor, begging for approval, but never feeling a connection.

I want you to ask yourself a question right now.

Have you ever done everything right on the outside, but felt completely dead on the inside? That was my life.

I wore the finest ths tailored from Italian fabrics.

I drove Ferraris that cost more than most people earn in a lifetime.

I attended diplomatic meetings where I shook hands with world leaders.

Everyone looked at me and saw a prince who had it all.

But at night when the servants were gone and the palace was quiet, I would stare at the ceiling and feel a terrifying emptiness.

I was living in a golden cage.

I was terrified of my father.

I was terrified of making a mistake.

I was terrified of a god who seemed to be waiting for me to fail so he could punish me.

In our culture, honor is everything.

You do not shame the family.

You do not question the patriarch.

You submit.

Absolute submission was the currency of my survival.

I learned to wear a mask.

In public, I was the devout, confident prince Nasser.

In private, I was a lonely boy, desperate for someone to see me, just me.

Not the title, not the money, just the human being underneath.

I didn’t know it then, but God was preparing my heart.

He was allowing me to feel the emptiness of the world so that I would be desperate enough to taste the fullness of his truth.

But before the truth could set me free, I had to find the one thing that made the cage bearable.

I had to find Fatima.

In the royal circles of Saudi Arabia, marriage is rarely about love.

It is about alliances.

It is about keeping bloodlines pure and consolidating wealth.

When my father told me it was time to marry, I expected a business transaction.

I expected a stranger to share my house but not my heart.

That is how it worked for my father and his father before him.

But God had a different plan.

Fatima was technically my distant cousin which is common in our tradition.

I remember the first time we were allowed to speak privately.

I was prepared to be the dominant husband to lay down the rules of the house as I had been taught.

But when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see a subordinate.

I saw a soul that mirrored my own.

She had the same sadness hidden behind her smile.

She lived in the same golden cage.

We fell in love.

And I know that sounds like a movie cliche, but in the strict suffocating atmosphere of the palace falling, in love was an act of rebellion.

For the first time in my life, I had a safe place.

When I was with Fatima, I didn’t have to be the perfect prince.

I could just be Nasar.

We created a tiny secret world inside our massive estate.

We would stay up late talking about our dreams, talking about what it would be like to travel without security guards to walk down a street like normal people.

She became my sanctuary.

In a world where everyone wanted something from me, she just wanted to be with me.

Her laughter was the only real music in that silent palace.

We were happy.

For 3 years, we were incredibly happy.

I started to believe that maybe I could survive this life.

Maybe I could tolerate my father’s tyranny and the emptiness of my religion as long as I had her.

She was my anchor.

But you have to understand something about the enemy.

The enemy hates unity.

And the enemy uses people who are consumed by lust and power to destroy anything that is pure.

My father began to notice our happiness.

At first, I thought he was pleased.

He would comment on how beautiful Fatima was becoming.

He would ask me details about our relationship that felt a little too intrusive, but I brushed it off thinking he was just being a protective patriarch.

I was naive.

I didn’t realize that in his twisted mind, my happiness was an insult to his authority.

He couldn’t stand that I had something he didn’t control.

Looking back now, I see the signs.

I see the way he looked at her during family gatherings.

I see the way he would dismiss me but keep her in the room a few seconds longer.

I was blind because I wanted to be blind.

I couldn’t imagine that the man who taught me the Quran, the man who punished me for missing prayers, was capable of such darkness.

I thought we were safe.

I thought love was enough to protect us.

But on that September morning, the illusion shattered.

The sanctuary I had built with Fatima was about to be invaded.

And I was about to learn that in the face of absolute evil human love is not enough.

You need divine intervention.

The date is burned into my memory like a brand on cattle.

September 12th, 2018.

It started like any other Tuesday in the palace.

The air conditioning was humming silently, keeping the desert heat at bay.

I was in my private quarters reading a financial report when the summons came.

One of my father’s personal guards knocked on my door.

He didn’t look at me.

He simply said, “Your Highness the Prince requires your presence immediately.

Usually a summons from my father meant a diplomatic briefing or lecture on family investments.

” But as I walked down the long marble corridor leading to his office, I felt a strange heaviness in my chest.

My body knew something was wrong before my mind did.

The hallway felt longer than usual.

The portraits of my ancestors lining the walls seemed to be staring down at me with judgment.

When I entered his office, he was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, cleaning a gold-plated pistol.

It was a 9 mm handgun, a custom piece he had commissioned years ago.

He didn’t look up when I entered.

He just kept polishing the barrel with a white cloth.

I stood there waiting.

In our culture, you do not speak until the patriarch acknowledges you.

The silence stretched for what felt like hours, but was probably only 2 minutes.

The only sound was the soft friction of the cloth against the metal.

Finally, he set the gun down.

It made a heavy clunk against the wood.

He looked up and smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of affection.

It was the smile a predator gives right before it strikes.

He asked me how Fatima was.

I told him she was well.

He nodded slowly and said, “She’s beautiful, Missur.

She is too beautiful to be kept hidden away.

” Then he said the words that shattered my reality.

He said, “I have decided that I want her tonight.

You will bring her to my chambers.

She will serve me.

And if you refuse, you know the penalty for disobedience.

” He placed his hand on the gun.

Time stopped.

Literally stopped.

For a moment, I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

My brain refused to process the sentence.

Share my wife with my father.

It was an abomination.

It went against nature.

It went against everything I thought we stood for as honorable men.

But then the reality crashed down on me like a collapsing building.

He wasn’t asking.

He was ordering.

This is where I need you to understand the war that exploded inside my head.

You might ask, why didn’t you just jump across the desk and strangle him? Any husband would defend his wife, right? But you have not been programmed since birth like I was.

Inside my mind, a civil war broke out.

One half of me was Nur, the husband, the man who loved Fatima more than life itself.

That part of me was screaming in rage.

That part of me wanted to pick up a chair and smash it over his head.

That part of me wanted to vomit on the expensive Persian rug because of the sheer disgust of what he was suggesting.

But the other half of me was Nazer the prince, Nasser, the Muslim son.

For 28 years, I have been brainwashed with the concept of absolute obedience.

We were taught that the father is the ruler of the home just as Allah is the ruler of the universe.

To disobey the father is to disobey God.

My muscles locked up, my throat closed.

I felt physically paralyzed by decades of conditioning.

It was as if invisible chains were wrapped around my wrists, holding me back.

I looked at the gun.

I looked at his cold dead eyes and I realized he would do it.

He would kill me without hesitation and then he would take her anyway.

If I died, I couldn’t protect her.

If I refused, I died.

If I agreed, my soul died.

I stood there shaking.

I could feel the blood draining from my face.

I tried to speak, but only a croak came out.

He laughed.

He actually laughed at my pain.

He said, “You have 24 hours to prepare her.

Don’t disappoint me.

” He waved his hand, dismissing me like a servant who had just delivered tea.

I walked out of that office like a zombie.

I don’t remember walking back to my room.

I just remember the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears like a war drum.

I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and threw up.

I sank to the floor, shaking violently.

The golden cage had just turned into a slaughterhouse.

Before I tell you what happened next, I want to pause for a second.

Maybe you are watching this and you have never faced a gun or a corrupt prince, but you know what it feels like to be trapped by authority.

Maybe you have been abused by someone who was supposed to protect you.

Maybe you have been betrayed by a system that was supposed to serve you.

If that resonates with you, please take a moment to subscribe to this channel.

We are sharing these stories not just to expose evil, but to show you that there is a way out, no matter how thick the walls are.

By subscribing, you are helping us reach more people who are trapped in their own prisons right now.

I sat on that bathroom floor for an hour.

My mind was racing.

I needed a way out.

But I couldn’t just run.

The palace was a fortress.

There were guards at every gate.

Cameras in every hallway.

And even if we got out, where would we go? My father had connections everywhere.

He could have us intercepted at the airport before we even checked in.

And then a desperate thought occurred to me.

Maybe this was a test.

Maybe my father had lost his mind.

But surely the religion wouldn’t allow this.

Surely the holy men, the scholars, the guardians of our faith would stand up for righteousness.

I thought if I can just show him that this is against Sharia, against the will of Allah, he will have to back down.

I decided to fight him not with a weapon, but with the law of God.

It was the last hope of a desperate man clinging to a system that was already crumbling beneath his feet.

The next morning, while my father thought I was preparing Fatima, I went to see the Grand Muy, a high-ranking religious scholar who visited the palace frequently.

He was a man I had respected my whole life.

He had a long white beard and spoke with a gentle voice, quoting the Quran with perfect diction.

I thought if anyone can stop this madness, it is him.

I met him in the palace library.

I didn’t give him the names at first.

I presented it as a theoretical question.

I asked Sheik, “Is it lawful for a father to demand his son’s wife for himself? Is there any exception in our holy text that permits such a thing?” I expected him to be outraged.

I expected him to stand up and say, “This is haram.

This is a grave sin.

” Instead, he looked at me with a calm, unbothered expression.

He smoothed his beard and asked, “Who is the father and who is the son?” When I told him it was my father asking, he didn’t gasp.

He didn’t reach for his prayer beads in shock.

He simply leaned back and said, “The ruler has rights that the common man does not.

” The father is the gateway to paradise.

If your father demands something of you, it is your duty to submit.

Your obedience to him is your obedience to Allah.

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

I argued with him.

I quoted verses about adultery verses about the sanctity of marriage.

He waved them away.

He told me that for men of power, for the guardians of the faith, the rules are flexible.

He hinted that it was a privilege for a woman to serve the patriarch.

I left that library feeling colder than I had ever felt in my life.

I didn’t stop there.

I called two other scholars I knew, men who were famous for their piety on television.

Their answers were different versions of the same lie.

One told me to be patient.

Another told me to pray for my father, but do not defy him.

Not a single one of them was willing to stand between a powerful man and his sin.

That was the moment the ground fell out from under me.

You see, for my whole life, I had believed that Islam was a system of justice.

I believed that even though it was strict, it was fair.

But in that moment, I realized it was a system of control.

It was designed to keep the powerful in power and the weak in submission.

The God I had prayed to for 28 years suddenly felt like a monster.

or worse, he felt like a myth invented by men like my father to justify their wickedness.

I walked through the palace gardens feeling completely alone.

The sky was blue, the birds were singing, but to me the world had turned gray.

I have seen many people in the comments section of these videos asking why Muslims just leave if they see the corruption.

I need you to understand something deep about our psychology.

When your entire identity, your family, your culture, and your eternity is tied to one belief.

System finding out is a lie doesn’t just make you angry.

It makes you terrified.

It feels like falling into a black hole.

I felt abandoned.

I felt that if Al was real, he was cruel.

And if he wasn’t real, then I was alone in the universe with a father who wanted to destroy me.

I went back to my room and looked at Fatima.

She didn’t know yet.

I hadn’t told her because I didn’t want to terrify her until I had a plan.

But looking at her innocent face reading a book on the sofa, I realized I had no plan.

I had no god.

I had no allies.

The sun was setting on September 13th.

I had less than 12 hours left before the deadline.

My father expected an answer.

Despair isn’t a loud screaming emotion.

Real despair is quiet.

It is the realization that you have run out of moves.

I went into my office and locked the door.

I sat in front of my computer.

I don’t know why I did it.

Maybe it was an act of pure desperation.

Maybe it was a subconscious cry for help.

But I opened Google.

I didn’t search for flights.

I didn’t search for lawyers.

My hands typed two words that were forbidden in my house.

Two words that could get me executed just for typing them.

I typed, “Who is Jesus?” I didn’t know it then, but that simple search was the first crack in the prison wall.

I wasn’t looking for a new religion.

I was looking for anything that could stand up against the darkness I was facing.

I needed a power greater than my father, greater than the imams, greater than the fear that was choking me.

And in the silence of that room, as the screen glowed blue in the dark, I was about to encounter a name that carries more weight than any earthly crown.

If you are watching this and you feel like the systems of this world have failed you, if you feel like religion has let you down or people in power have betrayed you, I want you to know you are not alone.

There is a truth that is higher than human corruption.

Stay with me because what I found on that screen didn’t just give me information.

It gave me a weapon to fight back.

I stared at the computer screen.

The search results for who is Jesus loaded in less than a second, but reading them felt like diffusing a bomb.

In Saudi Arabia, preaching Christianity is punishable by death.

Possessing a Bible is a crime.

Even being curious is enough to get you on a watch list.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, not out of excitement, but out of pure terror.

I deleted my browser history immediately.

Then I did it again, but the seed had been planted.

Over the next few days, while I pretended to prepare for my father, sick demands, I was living a double life, I found an encrypted chat room, a digital underground railroad for seekers in the Middle East.

It was there that I met a man we will call Ahmed.

He wasn’t a prince.

He was a simple engineer, but he had something I didn’t.

He had peace.

He agreed to meet me.

It was the most dangerous meeting of my life.

I didn’t take my security detail.

I drove a nondescript car to a dusty parking lot on the outskirts of Riad.

When he handed me the package wrapped in a black plastic bag, my hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped it.

It was a New Testament in Arabic.

To me, it looked like a radioactive object.

I had been taught that this book was corrupted, that it was filled with lies intended to lead Muslims to hell.

I smuggled it back into the palace, hidden under the spare tire of my car.

That night, after Fatima fell asleep, I went into the bathroom, the only room where I felt somewhat safe from the cameras, and I opened it.

I expected to read blasphemy.

I expected to feel the anger of Allah.

Instead, I read words that cut through 28 years of religious programming like a hot knife through butter.

I read Matthew 11:28, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

” I sat on the cold tile floor and wept.

In Islam, I was weary.

I was burdened.

I was crushing under the weight of laws I could never fulfill and a father I could never please.

And here was a God who didn’t demand my service first.

He offered me rest.

This is the fundamental difference that changed my DNA.

In the mosque, I was taught that the relationship between man and God is master and slave.

A slave obeys because he fears the whip.

A slave has no rights, only duties.

But as I turned the pages of this forbiddance book, I found Jesus calling God asterisk abba asterisk father.

I realized that my earthly father, the man with the gold pistol, wanted to use me and destroy me, but this heavenly father wanted to adopt me.

The contrast broke me.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t praying to a distant force that demanded five rituals a day.

I was talking to a father who wanted my heart.

I know there are many of you watching this right now who feel heavy.

Maybe you aren’t a Saudi prince.

Maybe you don’t have a gun pointed at your head, but you carry a weight on your shoulders that nobody else sees.

You feel like you have to perform to be loved.

You feel like if you make one mistake, you will be rejected.

I want to tell you that the same rest I found on that bathroom floor is available to you.

You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.

If you are searching for that kind of peace, just like I was hit that like button right now, it is a small way of saying I am ready to lay this burden down.

By the night of October 3rd, I had read half the New Testament.

My mind was changing, but my situation was getting worse.

My father was growing impatient.

He sent another message reminding me that time was running out.

I had the truth in my heart, but I was still trapped in the cage.

I needed more than just a book.

I needed a miracle and God in his mercy was about to walk through the walls of my bedroom.

Before I tell you what happened that night, I need to address something.

I know that for many people in the West, hearing about dreams and visions sounds crazy.

It sounds like a hallucination, but you have to understand that in the Middle East, God is moving in a way that defies logic.

There is a phenomenon happening right now from Iran to Yemen where thousands of Muslims, men, and women who have never met each other are reporting the exact same dream.

They see a man in white.

I was skeptical, too, until it happened to me.

It was 3:00 a.

m.

The palace was silent, but it was a heavy oppressive silence.

I had fallen into a fitful sleep, exhausted from the stress of planning an escape that seemed impossible.

I wasn’t thinking about Jesus when I fell asleep.

I was thinking about the gun.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in my dream changed.

Usually, my dreams were chaotic, fragmented replayings of my anxiety.

But this was different.

The first thing I noticed was the silence.

The background noise of the world simply vanished.

Then came the light.

It wasn’t the harsh artificial gold glare of the palace chandeliers.

It was a living light.

It was warm like liquid honey, and it seemed to be vibrating with a frequency of pure love.

I found myself standing in a vast open space.

The marble walls of my prison were gone.

The desert heat was gone.

And then he walked towards me.

I couldn’t see his facial features clearly because the light coming from him was too brilliant, but I knew instantly who it was.

He was wearing a simple white robe that looked like it was woven from light itself.

As he got closer, my physical body in the dream reacted.

In the presence of my father, I always felt my stomach tighten, my shoulders hunch in fear.

In the presence of this man, I felt every knot in my soul untie.

I fell to my knees, not because I had to.

Not because there was a rule that said kneel or be punished.

I fell to my knees because the weight of his glory was so heavy and so beautiful that I couldn’t stand.

I expected him to rebuke me.

I expected him to list my sins to tell me I was a traitor to my culture.

Instead, he reached out a hand.

I could see the scar on his wrist.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, and the heat that transferred from his touch into my body felt like fire, but it didn’t burn.

It healed.

It felt like 10 years of therapy and a lifetime of love compressed into a single second.

He spoke to me.

He didn’t speak in Arabic.

He didn’t speak in English.

He spoke in a language that my spirit understood before my brain could process it.

His voice sounded like the sound of rushing waters deep and resonant.

He said three things.

He said asterisk, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

” asterisk.

He said, “Asterisk,” “Do not be afraid of the one who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul.

” asterisk.

And then he looked me in the eyes and said, “Asterisk, run, I am with you.

” asterisk.

I woke up gasping for air.

But it wasn’t the gasp of a nightmare.

I was crying uncontrollably.

My pillow was soaked.

I looked around the dark room.

The furniture was the same.

The danger was the same.

My father was still down the hall with his gun.

But the room felt different.

The air felt charged with electricity.

For the first time in my life, the fear was gone.

I don’t mean I was brave.

I mean, the fear simply had no space to exist because the room was filled with him.

I woke Fatima up.

She looked at me terrified, thinking the guards had come.

I grabbed her shoulders and I said, “We are leaving today.

” She asked me, “Nisar, do you have a plan? Do we have permission?” I looked at her and said, “I don’t have a plan, but I have a promise.

” The man in white told me to run.

I want to pause here because I know there is someone watching this who is paralyzed by fear.

You are waiting for a perfect plan.

You are waiting for the bank account to be full for the enemies to disappear for the path to be clear.

But sometimes God doesn’t give you a plan.

He gives you a command.

He says, “Move and I will meet you in the movement.

” That morning we packed one bag.

We left the jewelry.

We left the cash that was in the safe because it was money tied to the system we were fleeing.

We took our passports and we walked out of the bedroom door.

We were walking straight into the lion’s den.

We had to pass through three checkpoints of royal security to get to the airport.

Logically, it was suicide.

But I wasn’t walking by logic anymore.

I was walking by the light of that dream.

And what happened at the airport is something that no security expert can explain to this day.

The date was October 15th, 2018 Eaton.

It was exactly 12 days after the dream.

12 days of walking on a razor’s edge.

My father was still distracted by his sudden illness, which doctors were struggling to diagnose, but his security apparatus was fully operational.

The palace was still a fortress.

The cameras were still watching.

The guards were still recording every entry and exit.

We had chosen a Tuesday for our escape because it was the day the shift rotation changed at the main gate.

The plan was terrifyingly simple.

We told the head of security that we were going shopping at a luxury mall in Riad and then having dinner at a hotel.

It was a routine we had established over the years so it wouldn’t raise immediate suspicion.

But instead of driving to the mall, we were driving to King Khaled International Airport.

I want you to imagine the tension in that car.

I was driving my Ferrari, the engine purring with a power that felt mocking in that moment.

Beside me, Fatima was wearing her baya, her face covered, but I could see her hands shaking in her lap.

We had no luggage.

We couldn’t take suitcases because that would scream escape.

We had nothing but our passports hidden in my jacket pocket and the clothes on our backs.

The drive to the airport takes about 30 minutes from the palace district.

Usually, I drove fast.

That day, I drove exactly at the speed limit.

Every police car we passed made my heart stop.

Every time I looked in the rearview mirror, I expected to see the black SUVs of the Royal Guard chasing us.

My mind was playing tricks on me.

I kept hearing my father’s voice saying, “You have 24 hours.

” I kept imagining the sound of that gold pistol being cocked.

We arrived at the airport.

Now, this is where things get complicated.

As a member of the royal family, I usually traveled through a private terminal.

I didn’t wait in lines.

I didn’t deal with customs, but using the private terminal meant alerting the Royal Protocol Office, which would immediately notify my father.

We had to use the public terminal.

We had to blend in with the thousands of travelers leaving the country.

Walking into that terminal felt like walking naked into a battlefield.

I was terrified of being recognized.

I was wearing sunglasses and a nond-escript th but my face was known.

If one person recognized me and tweeted asterisk Prince naysayer is at the public terminal asterisk the game would be over in minutes.

We approached the immigration checkpoint.

This was the moment of truth.

In Saudi Arabia there is a system called the male guardianship system.

A woman cannot travel without the electronic permission of her guardian.

I was Fatima’s guardian.

So technically I had given permission but I was also a person of interest to the state because of my father’s position.

If there was a flag on my passport if my father had put a travel ban on me silently the scanner would turn red and armed guards would swarm us within seconds.

The line was moving agonizingly slow.

I watched the officer in the booth ahead.

He was a stern man with a thick mustache stamping passports with a rhythmic thump thump thump.

That sound echoed in my head like a gavvel pronouncing a death sentence.

Thump, you are safe.

Thump, you are caught.

We finally reached the front.

I handed him our passports.

My hand was sweating so much I was afraid I would smudge the ink.

He took them.

He didn’t look at me.

He scanned the first passport.

Beep.

He looked at the screen.

He frowned.

He typed something on his keyboard.

My heart stopped beating.

I am not exaggerating.

I physically stopped breathing.

I looked at Fatima.

Her eyes were closed beneath her veil.

I knew she was praying.

I knew she was asking the man in white to intervene.

The officer looked up at me.

He stared right into my eyes.

He held my passport up, comparing the photo to my face.

The silence stretched for 10 seconds.

10 seconds that felt longer than my entire 28 years of life.

I prepared myself to run.

I prepared myself to fight, though I knew it was useless against armed airport security.

Then the officer did something that defies all logic.

He blinked.

He looked at the screen, which I am convinced must have shown my royal status or a flag.

He looked back at me and his eyes glazed over.

It was as if he was looking through me, not at me.

It was like a shutter had come down over his perception.

He stamped the passport.

Thump.

He stamped Fatima’s passport.

thump.

He handed them back and waved his hand.

He said, “Go.

” I took the passports and my fingers were numb.

We walked past the booth.

We didn’t run.

We had to walk calmly like two bored travelers going on a vacation.

But inside, I was screaming.

We passed the security check.

We walked to the gate.

We boarded the plane to London.

When the plane doors closed, I didn’t relax.

When the plane began to taxi, I didn’t relax.

It wasn’t until the wheels physically left the ground until I felt that stomach dropping sensation of takeoff that I let out a breath I had been holding for 3 weeks.

As the city of Riyad grew smaller beneath us, turning into a grid of lights in the desert darkness, I realized something profound.

The system was perfect.

The security was tight.

The enemy was powerful.

But the God who visited me in a dream had blinded the eyes of the guards just like he blinded the armies in the Bible.

He had made a way where there was no way.

I’m going to pause right here because I know exactly how some of you are feeling.

You are standing in a line waiting for a verdict.

Maybe it is a medical diagnosis.

Maybe it is a court case.

Maybe it is a financial decision that will determine your future.

You feel like you are next in line for disaster.

I want to ask you to do something bold.

If you believe that God can blind the eyes of your enemies and open doors that no man can shut, I want you to share this video right now with someone who needs hope.

Don’t keep this testimony to yourself.

There’s someone in your life right now standing at their own checkpoint needing to know that God is still in the miracle business.

Share this with them and let’s continue to the final part of this journey because leaving was only the beginning.

The real cost was yet to be paid.

We landed in London Heathrow 9 hours later.

The weather was gray and raining, a stark contrast to the burning sun of Saudi Arabia.

We stepped off the plane and for the first time in my life, I was a nobody.

I had no bodyguards.

I had no driver waiting for me.

I had no access to my bank accounts because accessing them would reveal our location.

The prince was dead.

Naser the refugee was born.

We eventually made our way to Canada where we applied for asylum.

The process was grueling.

We went from living in a palace with a thousand rooms to living in a small one-bedroom apartment with rented furniture.

We went from eating meals prepared by chefs to counting pennies to buy bread and eggs.

And this is where I need to be real with you.

There is a version of Christian testimony that paints everything as a fairy tale.

You accept Jesus and everything becomes perfect.

That is not the truth.

The truth is following Jesus cost me everything the world values.

I remember the day of my baptism.

It was in a small church in Toronto.

There was no gold.

There was no marble.

Just a simple tank of water.

As I stepped into that water, I knew what it symbolized.

In my culture, baptism is the point of no return.

It is a funeral for your old self.

As the pastor lowered me under the water, I felt the weight of my past, my sins, the fear of my father, the anger of my upbringing washing away.

When I came up out of that water, I gasped for air and it felt like the first breath of my life.

I was clean.

I was free.

I was a son of God.

But later that night, the reality set in.

I looked at my phone.

I wanted to call my mother.

I wanted to tell her, “Mom, I am safe.

Mom, I found the truth.

” But I knew I couldn’t.

calling her would put her in danger.

If my father knew she was speaking to an apostate, he would punish her.

I sat on the edge of my cheap mattress and wept.

This is the part of the story most people don’t talk about.

I missed the smell of the desert after rain.

I missed the sound of my mother’s voice.

I missed my brothers, even though they would probably kill me if they saw me.

The pain of separation is a physical wound that doesn’t fully heal.

But here is the paradox.

As I sat there crying, feeling the weight of my loss, I felt that same presence I felt in the dream.

The man in white was there in that tiny apartment.

And he whispered to my heart, “You have lost a temporal family, but you have gained an eternal one.

” I looked at Fatima.

She was sleeping peacefully for the first time in years without nightmares.

I looked at the Bible on my knitstand, and I realized I was the richest man in the world.

In the palace, I had billions, but I was a slave to fear.

In this apartment, I had nothing.

But I was a son of the king of kings.

I had traded a crown of gold for a crown of life.

And if you ask me today, Ner, if you could go back, if you could have the Ferraris and the power and the prestige back, but you had to give up, Jesus, would you do it? My answer is absolutely not.

Not for a second.

Because what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul? I found out that the golden cage is still a cage and a small apartment with Jesus is a kingdom.

We have rebuilt our lives.

It hasn’t been easy.

We have faced threats.

We have had to move multiple times because of security concerns.

But we are free and we have dedicated the rest of our lives to helping other people escape their own cages, whether those are physical cages in the Middle East or spiritual cages of depression and addiction in the West.

We are building a community here, a family of believers who support each other when the cost gets heavy.

If you want to be part of this family, if you want to stand with us and help us reach more people with this message of freedom, I invite you to click that subscribe button.

It is more than just a click.

It is you saying I am part of this mission.

I am standing with the persecuted church.

Together, we can be the voice for those who are still silenced.

We have been through a lot in the last 50 minutes.

We walked through the marble halls of a palace that felt like a prison.

We stood in front of a gold-plated pistol and faced an impossible choice.

We saw a light in a dream that was brighter than the sun.

And we walked through an airport checkpoint where God blinded the eyes of the enemy.

But now I want to talk directly to you.

We are not in a palace anymore.

We’re just two people having a conversation.

You might be watching this on your phone on a bus or on your laptop late at night when everyone else is asleep.

You might not be a prince.

You might not have a father threatening your life.

But I know that feeling of being trapped.

I know that feeling of carrying a burden so heavy that it feels like it is crushing your chest.

Maybe your cage isn’t made of gold.

Maybe it is made of debt.

Maybe it is made of a addiction that you have tried to break a thousand times.

Maybe it is a relationship that is destroying your self-worth or depression that makes getting out of bed feel like climbing a mountain.

You look at your situation and just like me on that September night, you say, “There is no way out.

The walls are too thick.

The enemy is too strong.

” I am here to tell you that the same Jesus who walked through the walls of my bedroom in Riad is ready to walk into your situation right now.

He didn’t save me because I was a prince.

He didn’t save me because I was special or holy or because I had read the whole Bible.

He saved me because I called on his name.

The Bible says in Romans 10:13, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

” Everyone.

That includes you.

It doesn’t matter what you have done.

It doesn’t matter how dark your past is or how impossible your present looks.

The man in white is not afraid of your darkness.

He specializes in turning prisons into testimonies.

I want to invite you to do something right now.

It is a simple act, but it changes eternity.

If you feel that tug in your heart, if you feel like this story wasn’t just a YouTube video, but a message sent specifically for you, I want you to surrender your life to Jesus.

You don’t need a priest.

You don’t need a church building.

You just need a humble heart.

You can pray a simple prayer like this.

You can say, “Jesus, I need you.

I am tired of running.

I am tired of carrying this weight alone.

I believe you died for me and rose again.

I give you my life.

Be my savior and my king.

” If you prayed that prayer or if you are already a believer who needed a reminder that God is still on the throne, I want to ask you to do one thing.

It helps us so much to know who is standing with us.

In the comments below, just type two words.

I believe it is a small declaration but when we see those comments scrolling by it reminds us and it reminds every other person watching that we are not alone that there is an army of believers around the world holding on to the same hope and if this story has touched you if it has given you a spark of hope where there was none please consider subscribing to this channel.

We are building a community here, a family of people who believe that no cage is too strong for God to break.

By subscribing, you are not just following a channel.

You are joining a mission to share these stories of freedom with a world that is desperate for them.

Thank you for listening to my story.

Thank you for walking this journey with me.

Never forget that the God of the universe knows your name.

He sees your struggle and he has a plan to bring you from the cage to the kingdom.

My name is Ner and I will see you in the next video.

God bless you.