He pointed down at a specific location in the heart of the city.

My eyes followed his finger.

He was pointing to the Musa mosque.

I knew this place well.

It was a center of hardline ideology.

A place where sermons against the West and against Christianity were preached every Friday with venomous hatred.

Watch, he said.

As I watched, the sky above Tehran began to change.

The stars seemed to be pushed aside.

A tear appeared in the fabric of the night sky directly above the mosque.

It was not a physical tear.

It was a spiritual opening.

And out of this opening, a sword descended.

This was not a sword of steel.

It was a sword of pure blinding light.

It was enormous, reaching from the heavens down to the rooftops.

It pulsed with the same energy I had seen in the robes of Jesus.

It was beautiful, but it was also terrifying.

It was the sword of truth.

It did not descend to kill the people.

It descended to judge the system.

I watched as the tip of the sword touched the dome of the Musa Mosque.

There was no explosion.

There was no fire.

Instead, a shock wave of light rippled out from the point of impact.

It moved through the city like a tsunami.

Where the wave touched, the chains of darkness were shattered.

I saw into the homes of the people.

I saw a young woman in her bedroom, secretly reading a PDF of the Bible on her phone, terrified of being caught.

As the wave of light passed over her house, fear vanished from her face.

She stood up, tears streaming down her cheeks, filled with a sudden supernatural boldness.

I saw a Revolutionary Guard commander sitting in his office, planning a raid on a house church.

As the light hit him, he fell out of his chair.

He curled up on the floor, weeping, clutching his chest, overwhelmed by a sudden conviction of sin and a vision of the man in white.

I saw the prisons, Evan prison, the notorious dungeon where so many believers are held.

The light penetrated the thick concrete walls.

I heard the prisoners singing.

Not songs of mourning, but songs of victory.

The guards were paralyzed, unable to silence them.

Jesus spoke to me again in 2026.

I am setting my throne in Ilum.

Elilum, the ancient name for the land of Iran.

At that moment, I did not understand the full significance of that word.

But later, after I woke up, after I had escaped, I opened the Bible for the first time.

I searched for the word Elum, and what I found made my blood run cold.

It confirmed everything I had seen.

I want to read this to you.

This is not my word.

This is the word of God written thousands of years ago by the prophet Jeremir.

In Jeremir 49:38, the Lord says, “I will set my throne in Elim and destroy her king and her officials, declares the Lord.

” Think about that.

I will set my throne.

A throne represents government.

It represents authority.

God is saying that he is going to establish his government directly in Iran.

He is not going to do it through a political revolution.

He is not going to do it through a foreign invasion.

He is going to do it by establishing his throne in the hearts of the people.

And look at the second part of the verse and destroy her king and her officials.

In the vision, I saw the structure of the Islamic Republic crumbling, not by bombs, but by irrelevance.

As the people’s hearts turned to Jesus, the power of the Ayatollas simply evaporated.

Their authority is based on fear.

When the people no longer fear them, when the people fear God more than they fear the regime, the regime has no power left.

I saw the mosques emptying out not because of a law but because the spirit of God had moved elsewhere.

I saw house churches multiplying so fast that they could not be counted.

I saw a revival that started in Thran and spread like wildfire to Mashad to Isvahan to Shiraz and then spilled over the borders into Afghanistan and Iraq.

This is the warning I brought back.

The year 2026 will mark a turning point.

It will be a year of great shaking for those who cling to the old power.

For the kings and officials who use religion to oppress, it will be a year of destruction.

Their secrets will be exposed.

Their power will be broken.

But for the people of Iran and for everyone who is praying for this nation, it will be the year of the sword of light.

It will be the beginning of the greatest spiritual harvest the Middle East has ever seen.

The vision shifted.

I saw the date clearly in my mind.

A night in Ramadan 2026.

The specifics of the date were burned into my memory.

A deadline that is approaching day by day.

I looked at Jesus.

Lord, I asked, why are you showing me this? Why not show it to a Christian pastor? Why show it to me an enemy? He looked at me with that same intense love.

Because no one can testify to the light like a man who has lived in the deepest darkness.

You were Saul of Tarsus.

Now you are Paul.

Go and suffer for my name.

The vision began to fade.

The lights of Terran blurred.

The sensation of the cold hospital room began to return.

I felt the heavy crushing weight of my physical body.

I was being squeezed back into the vessel of clay.

“Wait,” I cried out.

“I am not ready.

” “Remember,” his voice echoed, growing fainter, but still powerful.

“Jeremir, 49, the throne in Elum.

It is coming.

” And then, with a gasp that sounded like a thunderclap in the silent hospital room, I slammed back into my body.

This brings us to a critical moment in this video.

You have heard the vision.

You have heard the scripture.

Jeremiair 49-38 is not just ink on a page.

It is a geopolitical and spiritual road map for the next few years.

We are watching the headlines worried about nuclear deals and sanctions.

But God is working on a different timeline.

He is preparing a spiritual coup.

If you are a believer, I am asking you to mark your calendars.

I am asking you to start praying for Iran, specifically for the fulfillment of Jeremier 49.

Pray for the protection of the believers who will be the leaders of this revival.

And if you are watching this and you are fearful, fearful of wars, fearful of the future, let this vision give you peace.

The same God who can walk into hell to save a sinner is the same God who controls the destiny of nations.

He is setting his throne.

And when his throne is established, no dictator can stand.

But my story does not end with waking up.

In fact, the most dangerous part of my journey was just beginning.

Because when I opened my eyes in that hospital room, I was no longer the grand Ayatollah.

I was a witness to the resurrection.

And in the Islamic Republic of Iran, that is a crime punishable by death.

How does a man who is surrounded by guards, hooked up to machines, and watched by the intelligence services escape? The regime says it is impossible.

They say I must have had help from the CIA or the MSAD.

But they are wrong.

I had help, but it came from a much higher source.

In the next section, I am going to reveal the details of my escape that I have never shared publicly before.

I am going to tell you about the coincidences that happened that night, the power outage, the guard who fell asleep, the mysterious nurse who knew my name.

You need to hear this because it proves that when God gives you a mission, he also provides the exit strategy.

But before we get there, help us spread this warning.

This video is a digital missionary.

Every time you like and share, you are pushing this prophecy in front of someone who needs to hear it.

Maybe someone in Iran using a VPN.

Maybe someone who is searching for the truth.

Be a part of this mission.

Share the warning.

Now, let me tell you how I walked out of a maximum security hospital without being seen.

The collision with my physical body was violent.

One moment I was floating in the serene, multi-dimensional reality of heaven, listening to the voice of Jesus.

The next I was slammed back into a cage of bone and heavy flesh.

The air in my lungs burned.

The weight of gravity felt crushing as if a mountain had been placed on my chest.

I gasped, a jagged, desperate sound that tore through the silence of the hospital room.

My eyes flew open.

The blinding light of glory was gone, replaced by the sterile, flickering fluorescent lights of the intensive care unit.

The smell of roses and holiness was replaced by the stinging scent of bleach and sickness.

I was back.

Panic surged through me instantly.

Not the panic of death, but the panic of life.

I remembered exactly where I was.

I remembered who I was in this world.

I was not just a patient.

I was a prisoner, a high value target, a man marked for death by the very regime I had served.

I tried to sit up, but my muscles were atrophied and weak.

The monitors around me began to beep frantically, alerting the staff to the sudden spike in my heart rate.

I looked toward the door.

Through the glass panel, I could see them.

Two members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Course, IRGC, elite unit.

They were not sleeping.

They were standing guard.

A K47s slung over their shoulders, staring right at my room.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

I have seen the truth, but I’m going to die before I can tell anyone.

The door burst open.

A team of doctors rushed in, followed closely by the guards.

The lead doctor looked at the monitors, then at me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He’s back, he whispered.

It’s impossible.

He was dot dot dot.

He was gone.

The guard stepped forward, pushing the doctor aside.

One of them, a man with cold, dead eyes, leaned over my bed.

So, he sneered.

The Grand Ayatollah decides to rejoin us.

The Supreme Leader would be very interested to hear this.

He reached for his radio.

I knew what that call meant.

Once the intelligence agency knew I was awake and coherent, I would be transferred, not to a recovery room, but to Evan prison to ward 209, to the interrogation cells where men enter but never leave.

They would want to know why I refused to sign the Fatwa.

They would want to know who I was working with.

And when they found out I had met Jesus dot dot, the torture would be unimaginable.

I closed my eyes and prayed.

Not the formal prayer of salot, but a desperate cry to the man in white.

Lord, you sent me back.

You said, “I have a mission.

Do not let me die here in this bed.

You are the god of the impossible.

Show me the way out.

” The hours that followed were a blur of medical tests and interrogations.

I played the part of a confused, recovering old man.

I pretended I couldn’t speak well.

I pretended my memory was foggy.

But inside, my mind was racing, calculating, looking for an exit.

There was none.

The room was on the fourth floor.

The window was sealed.

The door was guarded 24/7s.

Night fell over to run.

The hospital quieted down, but the guards remained vigilant.

They operated on shifts.

There was no gap in their security.

I lay in the dark, listening to the rhythm of their boots in the hallway.

Click, clack, click, click, clack.

And then the first miracle happened.

It was exactly 3.00 a.m.

, the darkest part of the night.

Suddenly, the hum of the air conditioning died.

The lights in the hallway flickered and went black.

The monitors in my room silenced.

A power outage.

In Thran, power outages are not uncommon due to the failing infrastructure.

But in a military hospital, in the VIP wing, it was unheard of.

The backup generators should have kicked instantly, but they didn’t.

Silence descended on the ward.

I heard the guards shouting in Farsy, confusion in their voices.

What is happening? Get the flashlights.

Check the perimeter.

In that chaos of darkness, my door opened.

It didn’t open with the heavy sound of a boot kicking it.

It opened softly, silently.

A figure slipped into the room.

It was a nurse.

I had not seen him before during the day shifts.

He was wearing a surgical mask and a cap, his face almost completely hidden.

He moved with a precision that [clears throat] was not medical.

It was tactical.

He came to the side of my bed.

I tensed, expecting an assassin.

Was this how the regime would do it? A needle in the dark during a blackout.

The nurse leaned down, his voice a barely audible whisper.

Hassan, he said, my heart stopped.

Only my family called me Hassan.

To everyone else, I was your excellency or Ayatollah.

Do not be afraid, the man whispered.

The one who sent you back has also arranged your departure.

Can you walk? I nodded, adrenaline flooding my system, overriding the weakness in my legs.

Good.

Put these on.

Quickly, he handed me a bundle.

It was a janitor’s uniform, rough blue cotton, and a pair of worn out shoes.

I stripped off my hospital gown, my hands shaking.

The nurse helped me, his movements efficient and calm.

He placed a surgical mask over my face and handed me a mop bucket that he had brought in.

The backup generators have been layed, he said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You have exactly 8 minutes before the power returns.

We must move now.

He took my arm and led me to the door.

What about the guards? I hissed.

Walk past them, he said.

Do not look at them.

Look at the floor.

Trust.

We stepped out into the hallway.

It was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint glow of the city lights coming through the windows at the far end.

The guards were there.

They had flashlights now, beams of light cutting through the darkness.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

This is suicide, I thought.

They will see us.

We walked right toward them.

The nurse was pushing a cart.

I was carrying them up.

One of the guards shown his flashlight directly at us.

The beam hit my face.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the shout, waiting for the bullet.

Hey, you.

The guard barked.

I froze.

A generator room.

Is maintenance working on it? He shouted.

The nurse beside me answered, his voice calm, bored even.

Yes, sir.

We are bringing supplies to the basement.

It’s a blown transformer.

The guard grunted and lowered the flashlight.

Hurry up.

It’s getting hot in here.

He waved us through.

He waved us through.

I could not believe it.

I was the most recognizable face in the hospital.

My picture had been on the news.

Even with a mask, my eyes, my height, dot dot dot, he should have known.

But it was as if a veil had been placed over his eyes.

As scripture says, seeing they do not see.

God had blinded the enemy.

We walked past them, turned the corner, and entered the service elevator.

The nurse used a key to activate it.

As the doors closed, I slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

“Who are you?” I asked the man.

“Are you with the resistance?” “Are you Msad?” He pulled down his mask.

He had a kind face, ordinary, yet there was something in his eyes that reminded me of the man in white.

“I a brother,” he said.

“There are more of us than you think, Hassan.

even inside the walls of the regime.

Jesus has his people everywhere.

He didn’t say anything else.

The elevator opened in the loading dock of the basement.

A nondescript van was waiting.

Engine running.

The back doors opened.

I climbed in.

The nurse did not follow.

He nodded to me once, then turned and walked back into the hospital, back into the lion’s den.

I never saw him again.

I do not know his name.

I do not know if he was a man or an angel, but I know he was the answer to the prayer I prayed in that hospital bed.

The van sped out of Tehran, merging into the chaotic night traffic.

I lay in the back, covered by blankets, listening to the sounds of the city I had once ruled passing by.

We drove for hours.

I was handed off from one vehicle to another, from one silent driver to the next.

It was an underground railroad of believers, a network of secret Christians risking their lives to smuggle a former persecutor to safety.

We reached the mountains near the border of Turkey 3 days later.

The journey was grueling.

We had to hike through snow-covered passes that smugglers used to transport goods.

My body was still weak from the coma, but my spirit was burning with a supernatural strength.

Every step was a battle.

Every checkpoint we bypassed was a miracle.

There was a moment right at the borderline.

We were high up in the Zagris Mountains.

The air was thin and freezing.

The sun was rising over Iran behind me.

I stopped and turned back to look at my homeland one last time.

I saw the rugged peaks.

I saw the distant haze of the cities.

I thought of my family whom I might never see again.

I thought of the millions of people down there, waking up to the call to prayer, owing down to a silence that would never answer them.

I felt a deepwrenching pain in my chest.

I loved my country.

I loved my people.

Leaving was like tearing off a limb.

But then I remembered the vision.

I remembered the sword of light touching the dome of the mosque.

I remembered the promise.

I will set my throne in Elim.

I was not leaving Iran forever.

I was leaving to prepare for its return.

I was leaving to be the voice crying in the wilderness.

I raised my hand toward the land of Persia, and I spoke the words of the prophecy out loud, letting the wind carry them back to Theron.

Your king is coming, I whispered.

The shadows are long, but the morning is here.

I turned my back on the Islamic Republic and took the step across the border into freedom.

Now you have heard the story.

You have heard about the death, the judgment, the rescue, and the escape.

The regime in Iran has spent millions of dollars trying to discredit the story.

They have released fake reports saying I died of a heart attack.

They have doctorred photos.

They have threatened my family.

They say that my escape was a CIA operation.

They say I am a Western spy.

But you have heard the truth details today.

No CI agent could blind the eyes of a revolutionary guard.

No foreign government could orchestrate a power outage at the exact second I needed it.

This escape wasn’t politics.

It was providence.

And this brings me to you watching this video right now.

Why did God go to such lengths to save one old man? Why the vision? Why the miracles? It is because the warning is urgent.

The year 2026 is not far away.

The events I saw are already being set in motion in the spiritual realm.

God preserved my life so that I could look into this camera and tell you, get ready.

If you have been watching this and feeling is stirring in your heart, that is not an accident.

That is the Holy Spirit confirming the truth of this testimony.

You might be feeling fear, but I want you to replace that fear with faith.

The same God who blinded the guards and opened the doors for me is the God who watches over you.

We are approaching the end of this video and I have one final crucial thing to do with you.

I want to pray for you specifically.

I want to pray a prayer of protection over your family and your future, sealing you against the shaking that is coming.

But before we do that, I have a request.

This testimony is a seed.

It needs to be planted.

Continue reading….
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