Muslim Burned Alive for Converting But Jesus Rescued Him

The mob surrounded me with gasoline cans in their hands.

I could smell the sharp fuel in the air.

My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode.

This was the moment I had feared for months.

Ever since they found out about my secret.

My name is Ahmed and I am 27 years old.

I was born and raised in a small village in Pakistan where everyone knew everyone else’s business.

My father was the imam at our local mosque.

My grandfather was an imam.

His father before him was also an imam.

Islam was not just our religion.

It was our identity, our honor and our entire life.

Growing up, I memorized the Quran.

I led prayers.

I fasted during Ramadan without fail.

Everyone in the village respected our family.

They would come to my father for advice and religious guidance.

I was proud to be his son.

I thought I would follow in his footsteps and become an imam, too.

But something changed when I turned 23 years old.

A Christian family moved into our village.

This was unusual because our village was entirely Muslim.

The family opened a small medical clinic.

The father was a doctor and his wife was a nurse.

They treated people for free or for very little money.

Many villagers were suspicious of them at first.

I remember the day they arrived.

People gathered in the streets whispering and pointing at them.

Some people said they were trying to convert Muslims and they steal our our children away from Islam.

Others said we should drive them away before they corrupted our community.

My father held a meeting at the mosque warning people to stay away from the Christian family.

He said they were dangerous and that their kindness was just a trick to make us lower our guard.

I believed my father at first.

Christians were our enemies.

That is what I had been taught my whole life.

The Quran spoke against Christians and Jews, calling them people of the book who had corrupted God’s message.

I was told that Christians worshiped three gods instead of one, that they believed God had a son, which was blasphemy, that they ate pork and drank alcohol and lived immoral lives.

I had never actually met a Christian before, but I thought I knew everything about them.

But my mother got very sick that year.

She had terrible stomach pain and fever that would not go away.

She could barely eat.

She was losing weight rapidly.

My father took her to the city hospital, but the doctors there said she needed emergency surgery that they suspected appendicitis or possibly something worse, but the cost was enormous.

They wanted payment upfront before they would even admit her.

We were not a wealthy family.

My father was an imam which is a a respected position but it does not pay much.

We did not have that kind of money.

My father tried to borrow money from relatives.

He tried to sell some of our belongings but it was not enough.

Days passed and my mother was getting worse.

The pain was unbearable for her.

She was crying all the time.

I [clears throat] had never seen my mother in such agony.

I felt helpless watching her suffer.

The doctor at the Christian clinic heard about my mother from someone in the village.

One evening, he came to our house himself without being invited.

My father was shocked when he opened the door and saw the Christian doctor standing there.

The doctor said, “I heard your wife is very sick.

Please let me examine her.

I am a doctor.

I want to help”.

My father’s pride wanted to refuse.

I could see the struggle on his face, but my mother let out a cry of pain from the other room.

My father’s love for his wife was stronger than his pride.

He stepped aside and let the doctor in.

The doctor examined my mother carefully.

His face grew serious.

He said she needed surgery immediately.

Without it, she could die within days.

The infection was spreading.

My father’s face went pale.

He said, “We cannot afford the surgery.

We have tried everything”.

The doctor said something I will never forget.

He said, “I will take her to the government hospital where I have privileges to operate.

I will do the surgery myself at no cost to you.

I will also pay for all the medicine and after care she needs”.

My father started to protest, but the doctor held up his hand.

“Please,” he said, “let me do this.

Your wife needs help now.

We can discuss everything else later”.

That night, the doctor arranged everything.

He took my mother to the hospital in his own car.

He performed the surgery that saved her life.

It turned out her appendix had ruptured and the infection had spread to her abdomen.

If the doctor had not operated when he did, my mother would have died within 2 days.

After the surgery, the doctor visited our home every single day for two weeks to check on my mother’s recovery.

He brought food for our entire family because my mother could not cook.

He brought medicine.

He changed her bandages.

He never asked us for a single rupee.

He never tried to talk to us about Jesus or Christianity during those visits.

He just showed us pure unconditional love and kindness.

I was confused by all of this.

I had been taught that Christians were enemies of Islam, that they were corrupt and immoral people who hated Muslims.

But this doctor and his family were different.

They were kind and generous.

They loved their neighbors, even their Muslim neighbors who did not trust them and who had spoken against them.

One day, I went to their clinic to thank them again for saving my mother’s life.

It had been a month since the surgery and my mother was almost fully recovered.

The doctor’s wife, whose name was Sarah, invited me in and gave me tea.

We sat and talked for a long time.

I asked her the question that had been burning up my mind.

Why did you come to our village?

Everyone here is Muslim.

Many people do not want you here.

Some people have even threatened you.

Why did you stay?

Sarah smiled gently.

She said, “God told us to come here.

We prayed for months about where he wanted us to serve and he led us to your village.

We came because God loves the people here.

He loves your mother.

He loves you.

He loves everyone in this village and he commanded us to love others and serve them just as Jesus did.

I shook my head, but we are Muslims.

We do not believe in your religion.

Why would you help us?

Sarah poured more tea into my cup.

Jesus taught us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.

He taught us that when someone is hungry, we should feed them.

When someone is sick, we should care for them.

He did not say to only do this for people who believe the same things we believe.

He said to do it for everyone.

This confused me even more.

I said in Islam we are taught to fight against the enemies of Allah.

We are taught that Christians and Jews are not our friends.

The Quran says this clearly.

But you are saying Jesus taught you to love your enemies.

Yes.

Sarah said that is exactly what he taught.

Jesus said love your enemies.

bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you.

He told that this is how we show we are children of God.

I sat there stunned.

This was completely opposite to everything I had been taught.

In Islam, fighting and jihad against the enemies of Allah was considered righteous and even necessary.

But Jesus taught his followers to love their enemies, to bless those who curse them.

This made no senses to me.

Over the next few months, I found myself going back to the clinic often.

Sometimes I would offer to help them clean or organize supplies.

Sometimes I would just sit and talk with the doctor and his wife.

They told me many stories about Jesus, stories I had never heard before.

Even though Muslims believe of Jesus was a prophet, they told me Jesus healed the sick.

He fed the hungry.

He touched the leper that everyone else avoided.

He forgave the woman caught in adultery when everyone wanted to stone her.

He died on the cross for the sins of the world.

And 3 days later, he rose from the dead.

They said Jesus was not just a prophet like I was taught in Islam.

They said he was the son of God.

God in human form who came to save humanity.

I argued with them many times.

I quoted the Quran to them.

I told them about Islamic teachings.

But they never got angry.

They listened with respect.

They answered my questions with patience.

And slowly something began to change in my heart.

I started reading the Bible in secret.

The doctor gave me a copy in udo.

I would hide it under my mattress and read it late at night when everyone was asleep.

I started with the Gospel of Matthew.

The words of Jesus touched my soul in a way the Quran never did.

I read about how Jesus healed the sick and forgive sins directly.

In Islam, we had to ask Allah for forgiveness and hope he would forgive us.

We could never be certain.

But Jesus offered forgiveness immediately to anyone who came to him.

I read about how Jesus ate with sinners when the religious people criticized him.

He said he came for the sick, not the healthy.

In Islam, we were taught to avoid sinful people.

But Jesus went to them with love and hope.

I read the sermon on the mount where Jesus taught about loving your enemies and praying for those who persecute you.

This was revolutionary to me.

In Islam, we followed an eye for an eye and fought the enemies of Islam.

But Jesus taught radical love and forgiveness.

Then I read about the crucifixion.

Muslims are taught that Jesus did not really die on the cross.

But the Bible clearly describes Jesus dying on the cross and rising from the dead on the third day.

Over 500 people saw him alive after his resurrection.

This was God’s ultimate proof that Jesus was who he claimed to be.

Jesus said he was the way, the truth, and the life.

He said, “No one comes to the father except through him”.

For the first time in my life, I felt true peace when I prayed to Jesus.

I felt loved and accepted not because of my good works, but because Jesus died for me.

I was torn inside for months.

If I accepted Jesus, I would lose everything.

In Islam, apostasy is punishable by death.

If anyone found out I was reading the Bible and questioning Islam, they would kill me.

This was not a theoretical danger.

This was real.

But I felt pulled toward Jesus.

In Islam, Allah was distant and unknowable.

We could not have a personal relationship with him.

But Jesus taught that God is our father, that we can come to God with confidence that he cares about every detail of our lives.

I also struggled with fear and felt like a hypocrite pretending to be Muslim while believing in Jesus.

But I needed time to be sure.

After six months of studying and praying, I made my decision.

One night, after everyone in my house was asleep, I locked my door and knelt down.

I prayed to Jesus with tears streaming down my face.

Jesus, I believe you died on the cross for my sins.

I believe you rose from the dead.

Please forgive me and come into my heart.

I give myself to you completely.

The moment I finished praying, something happened that I cannot fully explain.

It was like a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders.

All my life, I had been trying to earn Allah’s favor.

I never knew if it was enough.

I never had peace or assurance of salvation.

But when I gave my life to Jesus, I felt certain.

I felt forgiven.

I felt loved by God in a way I had never experiences before.

But I had to be very careful.

I could not tell anyone about my conversion.

I continued going to the mosque with my father and praying the Islamic prayers in public.

But in my heart, I was praying to Jesus.

This double life was extremely difficult.

Every day I felt like I was lying to everyone I loved.

I felt like a coward for hiding my faith.

I talked to the Christian doctor about this struggle.

He told me that many believers in Muslim countries face this same situation.

He said, “God knows my heart even if I cannot declare my faith publicly yet”.

He told me to pray and ask God what to do.

This went on for almost a year.

I met secretly with the Christian doctor’s family and other secret believers, former Muslims who had converted but could not reveal their faith publicly.

We prayed together and studied the Bible together.

These meetings strengthened my faith, but they also made me more aware of the danger.

Every one of them had been discovered eventually and faced severe persecution.

I knew my time was limited.

Then one day, everything fell apart in the worst way possible.

My younger brother Khaled found my Bible.

It was hidden in my room in a special place I thought was safe.

I had hollowed out a large book on my shelf and put the Bible inside it.

But Khaled was looking for money.

He knew I sometimes kept cash hidden in my room.

He went through everything.

He found the holo book and opened it.

There was my Bible along with some notes I had written about Jesus.

He did not come to me first.

He did not ask me to explain.

He ran straight to my father.

I was in the living room when I heard college shouting.

My blood went cold.

I knew immediately what had happened.

My father came storming into the room holding my Bible in one hand and my notes in the other.

His face was red with fury.

His hands were shaking.

My mother was right behind him with her hand over her mouth in shock.

Khaled stood in the doorway looking afraid but also proud that he had discovered my secret.

“What is this?

” my father shouted.

His voice was so loud that neighbors probably heard him.

“Why do you have this filthy book in our house?

Why do you have notes about Jesus being the son of God?

” My mind was racing.

I tried to think of an excuse.

I tried to think of a lie that would save me, but no words came out.

My mouth was dry.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it.

I just stood there frozen, staring at the Bible in my father’s hand.

Answer me, he roared.

He threw the Bible on the floor.

The Christian doctor gave this to you, didn’t he?

I should have never let you spend time with those people.

They poisoned your mind.

My mother started crying.

Please tell us this is not what it looks like, she begged.

Please tell us you have not abandoned Islam.

I looked at my mother’s tears.

I looked at my father’s rage.

I looked at my brother’s fear.

This was the moment I had dreaded for so long, the moment of decision.

Would I deny Jesus to protect myself?

Or would I confess my faith and face the consequences?

In that split second, I remember Jesus’s words from the Bible.

Whoever denies me before men, I will also deny before my father who is in heaven.

But whoever confesses me before men, I will also confess before my father who is in heaven.

I remembered how Peter had denied Jesus three times and how much he regretted it.

I remembered how the apostles had stood boldly before the religious leaders and said, “We must obey God rather than men”.

I felt the Holy Spirit give me courage.

A supernatural peace came over me.

Even though everything was falling apart, I took a deep breath and looked my father in the eyes.

Father, I said quietly but firmly, I cannot lie to you anymore.

Yes, I have read the Bible.

Yes, I have studied the teachings of Jesus.

And yes, I paused knowing these next words would change everything forever.

Yes, I have become a follower of Jesus Christ.

I believe he is the son of God.

I believe he died for my sins and rose from the dead.

I believe he is the only way to salvation.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The words hung in the air like a bomb that had just been dropped.

My father’s face went from red to pale white.

He stared at me like I had just stabbed him in the heart.

My mother let out a whale of grief and collapsed into a chair.

Khaled backed away from me like I had become diseased.

Then my father exploded.

He grabbed me by my shirt collar and slammed me against the wall.

You have betrayed Islam.

He screamed in my face.

His spit was hitting me.

His eyes were wild.

You have betrayed Allah.

You have betrayed this family.

You have brought shame and dishonor on us all.

He slapped me hard across the face.

Then again on the other side.

My ears were ringing.

My cheeks burned.

He shook me violently.

Take it back, he demanded.

Renounce this blasphemy right now.

Say the shahada.

Declare there is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet.

But I could not do it.

Even with my father’s hands around my throat.

Even with my mother sobbing, even knowing what would happen next, I could not deny Jesus.

I had given my life to him.

I [clears throat] belong to him now.

Whatever happened to my physical body.

My soul was secure in Christ.

I cannot father.

I said even though it was hard to speak with his hands on my throat, I am sorry for the pain this causes you.

I still love you and mother and Khalid, but I cannot deny Jesus.

He is the truth.

He is my Lord and Savior.

My father’s face went hard as the stone.

He let go of my throat and I fell to the ground gasping for air.

He stood over me, breathing heavily.

When he spoke again, his voice was cold and deadly calm.

This was somehow more terrifying than his shouting.

You are no longer my son.

He said, “Each word was like a knife.

You have chosen to leave Islam.

You have chosen to worship the Christian God.

You have brought shame and dishonor to this family that will take generations to erase.

I disown you.

You are dead to me.

Get out of this house.

Take nothing with you.

If I ever see you again, I will kill you myself.

This I swear before Allah”.

I looked up at him from the floor.

The man who had raised me.

The man who had taught me to ride a bicycle.

The man who had been proud of me when I memorized Quran verses.

Now he was looking at me with pure hatred like I was his worst enemy.

I looked at my mother.

She was still crying, rocking back and forth.

Mother, I said softly.

She turned her face away from me.

She could not even look at me.

To her, I was already dead.

In Islam, apostasy is worse than murder.

I had committed the unforgivable sin.

I got up slowly.

My face was throbbing from the slaps.

My throat hurt from being choked.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional agony of losing my family.

I walked toward the door, not knowing where I would go.

I had no money, no extra clothes, nothing.

As I reached the door, I turned back one last time.

I am sorry, I said to my family.

I am sorry for the shame I have brought.

But I am not sorry for following Jesus.

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

I pray that someday you will see this too.

I love you all.

Nobody responded.

My father turned his back on me.

My mother continued crying.

College justice stared at the floor.

I walked out of the house I had grown up in, knowing I would probably never return.

The door closed behind me with a final sound.

My old life was over.

My new life as a confessed follower of Jesus was beginning, and I had no idea if I would survive it.

I had nowhere to go except to the Christian doctor’s house.

It was late at night by the time I got there.

I knocked on their door, shaking and crying.

The doctor opened the door and immediately saw what had happened.

His face showed both concern and sadness.

He had seen this before with other converts.

They found out, I said simply.

It was all I could manage to say.

He pulled me inside quickly.

His wife came out and saw my bruised face.

She gasped and immediately got ice and medicine.

They sat me down and I told them everything that had happened.

They prayed with me.

They comforted me.

They let me stay in their guest room.

But we all knew this was not over.

In Muslim communities, apostasy becomes a community issue.

The honor of the entire Muslim community is seen as violated when someone leaves Islam.

We knew my father would have to take action to restore honor.

By the next morning, word had spread through the entire village.

The Imam’s son had converted to Christianity.

People were shocked, outraged, and furious.

This was unprecedented in our village.

Groups of men started gathering.

By afternoon, a crowd of about 50 men marched to the Christian doctor’s house.

The doctor locked all the doors and windows.

He called the police, but they said they could not help.

One officer told him directly, “The apostate has broken Islamic law.

We cannot protect him”.

The crowd surrounded the house shouting, “Send out the apostate,” they yelled.

Some threw stones at the windows.

The glass shattered.

We all moved to the center of the house away from the windows.

For 3 days, we were trapped.

The crowd never fully left.

Different groups took turns keeping watch.

They blocked the road so no one could bring us food or water.

We rationed what little we had.

During those three days, I prayed constantly.

I prayed for protection, wisdom for my family.

I even prayed for the men outside who wanted to kill me.

The doctor and his wife encouraged me.

They read scripture to me.

They reminded me that Jesus had promised persecution would come to his followers.

On the fourth day, everything came to a head.

The crowd had grown to over 100 people.

Religious leaders from neighboring villages had arrived.

Around noon, they broke down the door with a battering ram.

About 30 men rushed into the house.

The doctor tried to protect me.

He stood in front of me with his hands raised.

Please, in the name of God, show mercy.

But they pushed him aside violently.

He fell and hit his head.

His wife ran to him.

Their children were crying.

Strong hands grabbed me.

They tied my hands behind my back with thick rope that cut into my wrists.

They dragged me out of the house into the sunlight.

The crowd was massive.

It seemed like the entire village had come to watch.

My father was there.

He was standing with the village elders and the other religious leaders.

His face showed no emotion.

He looked at me like I was a stranger.

The crowd formed a circle around me.

Someone brought gasoline in cans.

Someone else brought matches.

One of the elders spoke loudly so everyone could hear.

This man was born Muslim.

He has rejected Islam and converted to Christianity.

According to Islamic law, the punishment for apostasy is death.

We will execute this sentence today as a warning to anyone else who thinks about leaving Islam.

They [clears throat] dragged me to the center of the village to the main square where everyone gathered for Friday prayers.

Now it would become the place of my execution.

They threw me to the ground.

Dust filled my mouth.

I could barely breathe.

They kicked me and spit on me.

Someone yanked my head up by my hair so I had to look at the crowd.

My father was there at the front standing with the village elders and the other religious leaders.

His face showed no emotion.

He looked at me like I was a complete stranger, not like his son whom he had raised for 27 years.

The man I had called father my whole life was now looking at me with cold indifference.

Or maybe it was not indifference.

Maybe he was forcing himself to show no emotion because any sign of love or mercy would be seen as weakness.

My mother was in the crowd, too.

She was wearing her full borca, so I could barely see her face, but I could see her eyes.

They were red and dwen from crying.

She was surrounded by other women who were holding her up.

She looked like she could barely stand.

I wanted to say something to her, to tell her I loved her, to tell her I was sorry, but the men holding me would not let me speak.

Khaled, my younger brother, was standing near my father.

He was only 16 years old.

He looked scared and confused.

I caught his eye for just a second.

I saw something there.

Maybe doubt, maybe regret.

I was not sure.

But then he looked away quickly.

One of the village elders, a man named Abdullah, stepped forward.

He was carrying a copy of the Quran.

His voice boomed out so everyone could hear.

We are gathered here today to carry out Islamic justice.

He announced this man Ahmed son of our Imam was born a Muslim.

He has rejected Islam and converted to Christianity.

He has committed apostasy which is the worst sin in Islam.

The prophet Muhammad peace be upon him said, “Whoever changes his religion, kill him.

This is not our opinion.

This is the law of Allah as revealed in the hadith”.

The crowd murmured in agreement.

Some shouted, “Allahu Akbar, God is greatest”.

It was surreal to hear them invoke God’s name as they prepared to kill me.

Did they really think God wanted this?

Did they really believe murdering someone for their beliefs was righteous?

Abdullah continued, “We have given this apostate time to repent.

But he has refused.

He continues to blaspheme by calling Jesus the son of God.

He continues to insult Islam and the prophet Muhammad.

Therefore, we will carry out the punishment prescribed by Islamic law.

Let this be a warning to anyone else who thinks about leaving Islam.

Two men brought gasoline in large red cans.

The smell was overwhelming and made my eyes water even before they opened the cans.

My heart started racing.

This was really happening.

They were really going to burn me alive.

I had read about martyrs in church history who were burned at the stake.

I had always wondered if I would have the courage to face death like they did.

Now I was about to find out.

They poured the gasoline over me slowly, methodically.

It soaked through my clothes completely.

It was cold at first.

Then it started to burn my skin even before any flame touched me.

The fumes made me dizzy.

I started coughing.

My eyes were burning.

Some got in my mouth and I gagged on the terrible taste.

Any last words?

Abdullah asked.

It was a formality.

Now Mui did not really care what I had to say.

But Islamic law required that the condemn be given a chance to speak.

I struggled to my knees.

With my hands still tied behind my back.

It was difficult.

I looked out at the crowd.

Hundreds of eyes staring at me.

Some with hatred, some with pity, some with curiosity.

These were people I had known my whole life.

People I had prayed beside in the mosque.

People I had shared meals with.

people I had laughed with.

Now they were here to watch me die.

I forgive you, I said.

My voice was weak, but I tried to make it loud enough for people to hear.

All of you, I forgive you.

You do not know what you are doing.

You think you are serving God, but you are not.

Jesus said, “The true God is a God of love”.

He said to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

I am praying for you right now.

Some people in the crowd looked uncomfortable.

Others got angry.

One man shouted, “Shut up, apostate.

Do not speak the name of your false prophet”.

But I continued, “Jesus Christ is the son of God”.

I said firmly, “He died on the cross for the sins of the world.

He rose from the dead.

He offers forgiveness and eternal life to anyone who believes in him.

Even now, even here, he offers this to you.

You can know God personally.

You can have peace with him, not through works, but through faith in Jesus.

Enough, Abdullah shouted.

This blasphemy ends now.

He nodded to a young man standing nearby.

The young man looked nervous.

He was holding a box of matches.

His hands were shaking.

He looked at the elders, then at me, then back at the elders.

He did not want to do this.

I could see it in his eyes.

But he was being pressured by the crowd.

By peer pressure, by religious duty.

Do it now.

Someone shouted from the crowd.

Others joined in.

Allah Akbar, Allahu Akbar.

The chanting grew louder in that final moment as I watched the young man strike the match.

I prayed one more time.

Not a long prayer, just a simple, desperate cry from my heart.

Jesus, I trust you.

I am yours.

Into your hands I commit my spirit and please father forgive them.

They do not know what they are doing.

The young man dropped the lit match.

Immediately flames erupted everywhere.

Fire completely surrounded my body in an instant.

Orange and red flames covered me from head to foot like a blanket.

The crowd gassed and stepped back from the intense heat.

The fire was roaring like a living thing.

Black smoke rose into the sky.

The crowd expected to hear me screaming in agony.

They expected to smell burning flesh.

Some women covered their children’s eyes.

Even some of the men who had been shouting for my death now looked uncomfortable as the reality of what they were doing hit them.

But something impossible was happening.

Something that defied all natural laws.

I felt no pain.

Absolutely none.

The flames were all around me.

so close I should have been burned to ashes in seconds.

But instead, it felt like I was standing in a cool breeze.

It was like the fire had no power over me at all.

I looked down at my gasoline soaked clothes.

The flames were dancing on the fabric, but nothing was actually burning.

My skin was not blistering.

My hair was not catching fire.

Even my eyebrows and eyelashes were untouched.

I remember the story from the Bible.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

Three young men who refused to worship King Nebuchadnezzar’s golden statue.

They were thrown into a blazing furnace so hot that it killed the soldiers who threw them in.

But they walked around inside the furnace unharmed.

The king looked into the fire and saw not three men, but four.

The fourth looked like a son of the gods.

It was Jesus protecting them in the fire.

And now Jesus was protecting me the same way.

I was standing in the middle of intensive flames, but they were not touching me.

It was a miracle, a sign from God that I belonged to him, that he had the power to save, that he was real and present with me.

The fire burned for what felt like several minutes.

People in the crowd were starting to realize something was wrong.

I was not screaming.

I was not collapsing.

Then I was just standing there calmly in the middle of the flames.

Some people started pointing and talking urgently to each other.

Why is he not burning?

Someone shouted.

This is witchcraft.

Another person yelled.

No, it’s a sign from Allah.

Someone else said.

Finally, the gasoline burned up completely and the flames went out.

I stood there in the center of the square.

My clothes were blackened and discharred.

But my skin was completely normal.

Not a single burn mark, not a single blister, not even redness.

I was totally unharmed.

The crowd fell into complete shocked silence.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Everyone just stared at me in disbelief.

This was impossible.

This could not happen.

But they had all seen it with their own eyes.

Even my father’s face showed amazement.

One woman started crying and fell to her knees.

Others backed away in fear.

The crowd was shocked into silence.

One of the elders shouted, “Try again.

Use more gasoline”.

But many people were now afraid.

They had seen something supernatural.

Some started to leave.

In the confusion, the Christian doctor and two other men ran forward and cut the ropes on my hands.

We ran through the village streets and escaped in a truck that belonged to a Christian man who had come to help.

We drove for hours until we reached the city.

The Christian community there gave us shelter and food.

The doctor and his wife had to leave everything behind, but they never complained.

They were just grateful to God that we were all alive.

News of the miracle spread quickly.

Three men from my village who witnessed it contacted me secretly.

They said, “If God protected me like that, then my God must be the true God”.

I met with them and shared the gospel.

All three accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

Even my younger brother Khaled reached out months later.

He said he could not stop thinking about what he saw.

He is still studying but I pray every day that he will come to know Jesus.

My father and I have not spoken since that day.

My mother sends messages through others.

It breaks my heart but I do not regret following Jesus.

I now live in a different city and work with a Christian ministry helping former Muslims who have converted.

Many face persecution.

Some have been beaten.

Some have lost their families.

But we encourage each other and worship Jesus together.

I was baptized 6 months after the miracle.

I publicly declared my faith in Jesus Christ.

I was no longer living two lives.

I was fully a follower of Jesus.

People ask if I am angry at those who tried to kill me.

I am not.

I am sad for them.

They are trapped in a religion of rules and fear.

They do not know the love and grace of Jesus.

They think they must earn their way to heaven, but they can never be sure.

Jesus offers salvation as a free gift because he loves us.

He took the punishment we deserved.

When we believe in him, we are saved by his grace.

The miracle changed my life forever.

But the greater miracle happened when Jesus changed my heart and freed me from trying to earn salvation.

Life as a former Muslim who converted is not easy.

There are always risks, but I am not afraid.

God protected me in the fire.

He can protect me from anything.

That is my testimony.

I pray it encourages you if you are a Christian.

And I pray it opens your heart if you are not.

God performed a miracle in the fire.

But he performs an even greater miracle when he transforms a human heart.

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

That is what I believe.

What I will proclaim until my last breath.

And that is the truth that set me