I was dead for four minutes in a Houston ICU when something impossible happened that made my family scream.

What did I see on the other side that made me risk everything I had as a Saudi prince? My name is Fisal and I am 28 years old.

I was born in Riyad, Saudi Arabia, but I moved to Houston, Texas when I was 19 to study at Rice University.

My father is Prince Abdul Aziz bin Saud, a cousin to the king of Saudi Arabia.

That makes me Saudi royalty.

Even though I am not close to the throne.

Growing up, I lived in a palace with 47 rooms.

We had 12 servants who worked for our family.

My bedroom was bigger than most American houses.

Money was never something I thought about.

When I turned 16, my father gave me a Mercedes S-Class worth $120,000.

When I turned 18, he bought me a Lamborghini Aventador worth $400,000.

I never looked at price tags when I went shopping.

If I wanted something, I bought it.

If I wanted to fly to Paris for the weekend, I booked a private jet.

My monthly allowance was $50,000, which was more than most families in America make in a year.

But wealth was not the most important thing in my family.

Faith was everything.

My father prayed five times every single day without fail.

He woke up at 4:30 every morning for fajar prayer.

Even when he traveled to other countries for business, he would stop everything to pray.

My mother covered her face completely in public and only showed her eyes.

She taught Quran classes to young girls at our local mosque.

My grandfather had made the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca seven times in his life.

I learned to pray before I learned to read.

By age five, I could recite the opening chapter of the Quran perfectly.

By age 10, I had memorized 15 different chapters.

My father would test me every Friday after prayers.

If I made even one small mistake, he would make me practice for an extra hour.

He said that as a prince, I had to be an example to other Muslims.

People watched our family closely.

We had to show perfect devotion to Allah.

When I was 12, my father took me on my first Umbra pilgrimage to Mecca.

I remember walking around the Cabba with thousands of other Muslims.

All of us moving together in the same direction.

The sound of prayers filled the air.

Men were crying with joy.

Women were touching the black stone and weeping.

My father held my hand and told me this was the holiest place on earth.

He said that one prayer in Mecca was worth 100,000 prayers anywhere else.

I believed him completely.

I had no reason to doubt anything my father told me about Islam.

He was wise educated and deeply religious.

He read the Quran in classical Arabic which very few people can do properly.

He had studied Islamic law at the best universities in Saudi Arabia.

Religious scholars would come to our palace to ask his opinion on difficult questions about faith.

My mother was just as devoted as my father.

She fasted not just during Ramadan but on Mondays and Thursdays throughout the year.

She gave large amounts of money to help poor Muslims in other countries.

She organized the charity programs that built schools and hospitals in Pakistan, Egypt, and Indonesia.

She told me that wealth was a test from Allah.

She said that rich Muslims had to use their money to help others or they would be punished in the afterlife.

I took my faith very seriously.

I prayed five times a day, even when my friends at school made fun of me.

In middle school, other students would laugh when I unrolled my prayer mat in the corner of the library.

They would whisper and point, but I did not care what they thought.

I was more afraid of Allah than I was of embarrassment.

My father told me that a true Muslim never feels ashamed of his faith.

He said that we should be proud to worship Allah publicly.

When I turned 19, my father told me I would study business at Rice University in Houston.

He said that the royal family needed young men who understood both Islamic values and Western business practices.

Saudi Arabia was changing.

We needed leaders who could work with American companies while staying faithful to our religion.

He bought me a penthouse apartment in downtown Houston that cost $3 million.

He deposited $200,000 into my American bank account before I left.

Houston was completely different from Riyad.

In Saudi Arabia, women covered themselves completely.

In Houston, women wore shorts and tank tops.

In Saudi Arabia, alcohol was completely forbidden.

In Houston, bars were on every corner.

In Saudi Arabia, everyone stopped everything five times a day to pray.

In Houston, most people never prayed at all.

I was shocked by how casual Americans were about religion.

Most of them called themselves Christians, but they did not go to church regularly.

They did not pray before meals.

They did not study their holy book.

I found the nearest mosque in Houston and started attending every Friday.

The Islamic center of Houston was a large building with a golden dome.

Uh inside Muslims from all over the world gathered for prayer.

There were Pakistanis, Egyptians, Iranians, Somalis, and even some American converts.

I felt comfortable there because everyone took faith seriously.

We prayed together, studied Quran together, and supported each other.

At Rice University, I study hard and got excellent grades.

My professors respected me because I always came prepared and asked good questions, but I kept my faith private from most of my American classmates.

I did not want to deal with ignorant questions about terrorism or extremism.

After 9/11, many Americans looked at Muslims with suspicion.

I learned to be careful about who I told about my religion.

I had a roommate named David who was from Dallas.

He was friendly and respectful, but he did not understand Islam at all.

One day he asked me why Muslims prayed so many times every day.

I explained that prayer keeps us connected to Allah throughout the day.

He asked why we could not just pray once in the morning like Christians do.

I told him that Islam requires more discipline than Christianity.

He looked confused but did not argue with me.

David was a carell Christian who only went to church on Easter and Christmas.

He drank beer on weekends and dated different girls every few months.

He was a good person, but he had no real spiritual discipline.

I felt sorry for him because I believed he was missing the true path to God.

I thought Christians had changed the Bible and lost the real teachings of Jesus.

My father had taught me that Jesus was just a prophet, not the son of God.

Christians had made a terrible mistake by worshiping him.

By my third year at Rice, I had everything a young man could want.

I was earning top grades in the business program.

I had plenty of money to do whatever I wanted.

I had a nice apartment, a luxury car, and respect from my professors.

I prayed five times a day and attended mosque every Friday.

I was living the perfect life as a faithful Muslim prince.

But I also had a secret habit that I kept hidden from everyone.

I was eating terribly and not exercising at all.

In Saudi Arabia, I had played soccer and stayed active.

But in Houston, I ate fast food constantly.

Burgers, pizza, fried chicken, donuts.

I gained 40 lbs in 2 years.

I would get out of breath just walking upstairs.

My father warned me during phone calls that I needed to take better care of my body.

He said that Muslims have a duty to stay healthy because our bodies belong to Allah.

I ignored his warnings.

I told myself I would start exercising soon.

I told myself I would eat better next month, but I kept putting it off.

Food became a comfort for me when I felt stressed about school or homesick for Saudi Arabia.

Eating made me feel better temporarily even though I knew it was harming my health.

Ask yourself this question.

Have you ever ignored warning signs about your health because you thought you had plenty of time to fix things later? That was my mistake.

I was only 26 years old and I thought I was invincible.

I had no idea that my terrible eating habits were creating a dangerous problem inside my body.

I had no idea that in just 2 years my heart would stop beating completely and I would see something that would change everything I believed about God.

On November 3rd, 2023, I was sitting in my apartment studying for a finance exam when I felt a strange tightness in my chest.

It was like someone had wrapped a belt around my ribs and was pulling it tighter and tighter.

I stood up and tried to take a deep breath, but the pressure got worse.

My left arm started feeling heavy and numb.

Sweat poured down my face.

Even though the apartment was cool, I knew something was very wrong.

I grabbed my phone and called 911.

The operator asked me questions about my symptoms.

She told me to unlock my front door and lie down on the floor.

She said an ambulance was coming.

Within 8 minutes, I heard sirens outside my building.

Paramedics rushed into my apartment with equipment and a stretcher.

They put stickers on my chest, connected wires, and looked at a monitor.

One of them said something about irregular rhythms.

Another one put an oxygen mask on my face.

The ambulance ride to Memorial Herman Hospital was only 12 minutes, but it felt like an hour.

Every bump in the road sent waves of pain through my chest.

The paramedic kept asking me questions to keep me awake.

He asked my name, my age, my address.

I could barely answer because speaking made the pain worse.

I remember looking up at the ceiling of the ambulance and thinking about my family in Saudi Arabia.

I wondered if I was going to die before seeing them again.

At the emergency room, doctors and nurses surrounded me immediately.

They cut off my shirt with scissors.

They stuck needles in my arms.

They shown lights in my eyes.

Someone pushed my stretcher down a long hallway very fast.

Ceiling lights passed by above me like a tunnel.

I heard people shouting medical words I did not understand.

Cardiogenic ST elevation.

Prepare the cath lab.

A doctor leaned over me and spoke clearly.

Visal, you are having a major heart attack.

Your main artery is blocked.

We need to clear it right now or you will die.

Do you understand? I nodded.

He said they were taking me to a special room where they would put a tiny tube into my heart to open the blocked artery.

He said I would be awake but sedated.

I needed to sign a form giving permission.

My hand shook as I signed the paper.

The cardiac catheterization lab was cold and filled with large machines.

Nurses positioned me on a narrow table.

They covered most of my body with blue sterile sheets.

A doctor injected medicine into my wrist that made it feel numb.

I could see monitors above me showing pictures of my heart.

The doctor inserted a thin wire into my wrist and guided it up toward my heart.

I could not feel it, but I could see it on the monitor moving like a snake through my blood vessels.

Everything seemed to be going okay for the first few minutes.

Then suddenly alarms started beeping loudly.

Numbers on the monitors dropped fast.

I heard a doctor say, “He’s crashing.

” Another voice said, “Blood pressure falling.

” Uh, someone yelled, “Get the defibrillator ready.

” I felt dizzy and confused.

The room started spinning around me.

Voices became distant and muffled like I was underwater.

The last thing I remember from that moment was a doctor pressing hard on my chest.

Then everything went black.

Not black like closing your eyes in a dark room.

Black like complete nothingness.

No thoughts, no feelings, no awareness.

Just absolute emptiness.

I do not know how long I was in that emptiness.

Maybe seconds, maybe minutes.

Time had no meaning there.

But then suddenly I was not in the emptiness anymore.

I was standing in a place that was neither dark nor light.

It was like existing in a space that had no physical qualities at all.

I could not see my own body.

I had no sense of being hot or cold.

I was just awareness, just consciousness floating in this strange place.

Then I saw a figure in the distance.

At first it was just a small point of light, but it grew larger as it moved toward me.

Or maybe I moved toward it.

I could not tell which.

The light was not harsh or blinding.

It was warm and inviting.

As the figure got closer, I could see it had the shape of a man.

He was wearing simple white clothing that seemed to glow with its own light.

When the figure was close enough, I could see his face clearly.

He had dark hair and a beard.

His eyes were filled with love that was more intense than anything I had ever felt from another person.

Those eyes seemed to look straight into the deepest parts of who I was.

Not judging, not condemning, just seeing me completely and loving me completely at the same time.

I knew instantly who this was, even though my mind rejected it immediately.

This was Jesus, not Isa, the prophet that Islam teaches about.

This was the Jesus that Christians worship as the son of God.

Every part of my being recognized him.

Even as my thoughts screamed that this could not be real.

I had been taught my entire life that Jesus was just a messenger and not divine.

But standing before him now, I knew with absolute certainty that he was God.

Jesus did not speak with words, but somehow I understood everything he wanted to communicate.

He showed me my whole life in what felt like an instant.

I saw myself as a child memorizing Quran verses to make my father proud.

I saw myself praying five times a day out of duty and fear rather than love.

I saw myself judging David and other Christians as lost and confused.

I saw myself filled with pride about being Saudi royalty and thinking I was better than other people.

Then Jesus showed me something that shattered my understanding completely.

He showed me the moment of his death on a cross.

But this was not just a historical event.

He showed me that he died specifically for me for Falbin Abdulaziz.

He showed me that while I was memorizing Quran verses and performing religious rituals, he was the one who loved me completely all along.

He showed me that all my prayers and fasting and religious devotion could never make me worthy of God’s love because I was already loved completely.

Tears streamed down my face except I did not have a physical face in this place.

It was like my soul was crying.

I felt overwhelming shame for all the times I had dismissed Jesus as just a prophet.

I felt crushing guilt for thinking Christians were misguided and lost.

I understood suddenly that I was the one who had been lost all along, searching for God through rituals and rules when God had been reaching out to me through Jesus the entire time.

Jesus did not condemn me for my ignorance.

He just kept radiating pure love.

He showed me that he was giving me a choice.

I could stay here with him and enter heaven or I could go back to my body and live the rest of my earthly life.

But if I went back, everything would change.

I would have to tell the truth about what I had seen.

I would have to leave Islam and follow him openly.

My family would disown me.

My father would cut me off financially.

Other Muslims might even try to hurt me.

Ask yourself this question.

Would you give up everything you have ever known for the truth? That was the choice Jesus gave me.

Stay here in perfect peace and love or go back to face rejection, loss, and suffering.

But going back also meant I could tell others about Jesus.

I could help other Muslims find the truth.

I could live the rest of my life serving the real God instead of a religious system.

I chose to go back.

The moment I made that decision, Jesus smiled.

It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

He touched my chest where my heart was and suddenly I felt a rush of energy like lightning.

Then everything went black again.

The next thing I heard was shouting.

We’ve got a pulse.

He’s back.

Someone was pressing hard on my chest.

I tried to open my eyes, but the lights were too bright.

I could not move my arms or legs.

My whole body felt heavy and wrong.

Someone said, “Visal, can you hear me? You’re okay.

You’re in the hospital.

You coded for almost 4 minutes, but we got you back.

” My throat hurt terribly.

There was a tube down it helping me breathe.

I wanted to speak but could not make any sounds.

My mind was racing with everything I had just experienced.

I had died.

I had met Jesus.

He had sent me back.

And none of this made sense according to everything I believed about God and faith and Islam.

But it was the most real thing that had ever happened to me.

They kept me in the intensive care unit for the next 5 days.

The doctor said I was very lucky to be alive.

My heart had stopped for 3 minutes and 47 seconds.

They had to shock me twice with the defibrillator to get my heart beating again.

Most people who flatline that long have brain damage from lack of oxygen.

But somehow all my brain tests came back normal.

The doctors called it remarkable.

They said I was a medical miracle.

But I knew it was not luck or medicine that saved me.

It was Jesus.

He had brought me back for a purpose.

I just did not know how to tell anyone about what happened without sounding crazy.

Who would believe that a devout Muslim prince had died and met Jesus? Nap on my family would think I had brain damage.

My friends at the mosque would think I had lost my mind.

Even the hospital staff might think the lack of oxygen had caused hallucinations.

On my second day in the ICU, my father called from Saudi Arabia.

Someone from Rice University had contacted the Saudi consulate to inform them about my heart attack.

My father was crying on the phone which I had never heard before.

He said he was making arrangements to fly to Houston immediately.

He said he had been so worried when he heard the news.

He thanked Allah for sparing my life.

He said he would take me back to Saudi Arabia where I could recover properly with family around me.

I felt sick listening to him thank Allah.

I knew I needed to tell him the truth about what happened.

But how could I explain over the phone that I no longer believed in Allah? How could I tell him that I had met Jesus and now knew that Islam was wrong? I told him I loved him and that we would talk more when he arrived.

I hung up feeling like a coward.

My roommate David visited me on the third day.

He brought flowers and a card signed by several people from my business classes.

He sat in the chair next to my bed and said he had been really scared when the ambulance came to our apartment.

He said he was glad I was okay.

Then he did something that surprised me completely.

He asked him if he could pray for me.

Not a Muslim prayer, a Christian prayer.

Before my experience with Jesus, I would have said no.

I would have been offended that he wanted to pray to a God I did not believe in.

But now everything was different.

I nodded yes.

David closed his eyes and prayed a simple prayer.

God, thank you for saving Fisal’s life.

Please help him heal completely.

Give him strength and peace during his recovery in Jesus’ name.

Amen.

When he said Jesus name, I started crying.

Not quiet tears, loud sobbing that made the nurses come running to check if something was wrong.

David looked panicked, thinking his prayer had upset me.

But I managed to say through my tears that I was okay, that his prayer meant more to me than he could possibly understand.

He looked confused, but held my hand until I calmed down.

That night, I could not sleep.

I kept thinking about everything Jesus had shown me during my death experience.

I kept replaying the moment when he revealed that he died specifically for me.

The weight of that sacrifice crushed me.

Jesus, who was God himself, had suffered and died so that I could be forgiven and have eternal life.

All my years of praying and fasting and trying to earn Allah’s approval were completely worthless compared to what Jesus had already done for me.

I pressed the call button for the nurse.

When she came in, I asked if the hospital had a chaplain I could talk to.

She said yes and asked if I wanted her to call one.

I nodded.

About 20 minutes later, a middle-aged woman named Chaplain Rebecca came into my room.

She introduced herself and sat down.

She said she was there to provide spiritual support to patients of all faiths.

She asked if I wanted to pray or talk.

I took a deep breath and told her I needed to talk about something that would sound insane.

She smiled gently and said that nothing I could say would surprise her.

She had heard all kinds of things from patients who had close calls with death.

So I told her everything.

I told her about being raised Muslim, about memorizing the Quran, about my father, the prince, about my heart attack, and about meeting Jesus while I was dead.

Chaplain Rebecca listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said something that changed everything.

Fisal, what you experienced is called a near-death experience or NDE.

Many people who die and come back report seeing religious figures or deceased loved ones.

But here’s what’s remarkable about your experience.

You saw Jesus even though you were raised to believe he was just a prophet.

That’s significant.

You didn’t see Muhammad or Allah.

You saw Jesus as Lord and God.

I believe the Holy Spirit revealed truth to you.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small Bible.

She opened it to a book called Acts and read a story about a man named Saul who had persecuted Christians.

Saul had a vision of Jesus on the road to Damascus.

Jesus appeared to him in bright light and spoke to him.

After that encounter, Saul became a Christian and changed his name to Paul.

He spent the rest of his life telling people about Jesus even though it cost him everything.

The similarities to my own experience were impossible to ignore.

Like Saul, I had been devoted to a religion that denied Jesus was God.

Like Saul, I had a supernatural encounter with Jesus.

Like Saul, I was being called to follow Jesus, even though it would cost me my family, my wealth, and my status.

I was following in the footsteps of someone from the Bible itself.

Chaplain Rebecca asked me a question that I will never forget.

Faizal, do you believe that Jesus is the son of God? Do you believe he died for your sins and rose from the dead? Do you want to accept him as your Lord and Savior? Every part of my old life told me to say no.

My father’s voice in my head said this was betrayal.

My mother’s voice said this was the worst sin possible.

The imam from the mosque said this was apostasy punishable by death.

But the voice of Jesus in my heart was louder than all of them.

I whispered yes.

Chaplain Rebecca smiled with tears in her eyes.

She led me in a prayer where I confessed that Jesus was Lord.

I asked him to forgive all my sins.

I thanked him for dying on the cross for me.

I committed my life to following him no matter what it cost.

When I finished praying, I felt a peace that was even deeper than what I felt during my near-death experience.

One, I was no longer a Muslim.

I was a follower of Jesus Christ.

Faizal bin Abdulaziz Saudi prince and devoted Muslim had died in that ICU room.

The man who lived now was a new creation born again through faith in Jesus.

I had no idea how I was going to tell my family or what would happen when they found out.

But I knew with absolute certainty that I had finally found the truth about God.

Ask yourself this question.

What would you be willing to lose to gain eternal life? That was the question I faced lying in that hospital bed.

I was about to lose everything that made me who I was in the eyes of the world.

My family name, my inheritance, my connection to Saudi royalty, possibly even my life if radical Muslims decided to punish me for apostasy.

But what I was gaining was worth infinitely more.

I was gaining Jesus himself.

My father arrived in Houston 6 days after my heart attack.

He came directly from the airport to the hospital, still wearing his traditional Saudi th and headdress.

When he walked into my room, he looked older and more tired than I remembered.

He hugged me carefully, mindful of all the wires and tubes still connected to my body.

He spoke in Arabic, thanking Allah for preserving my life.

He said he had been praying constantly since hearing about my heart attack.

I knew I could not delay telling him the truth.

Keeping this secret would only make things worse.

So after the doctors left and it was just the two of us in the room, I took a deep breath and spoke.

Father, something happened when I died on the operating table.

Something I need to tell you about.

He leaned forward, concerned.

He asked if I had brain damage from the lack of oxygen.

I shook my head and continued.

When my heart stopped, I left my body.

I was in another place and I met Jesus there.

Not Isa the prophet, Jesus as God.

He showed me that he died for my sins.

He sent me back to tell others about him.

Father, I have become a Christian.

I believe Jesus is the son of God.

The color drained from my father’s face.

He stood up from his chair so fast it fell backward and hit the floor.

His hands were shaking.

His voice came out choked and harsh.

What are you saying? Have you lost your mind? This is the lack of oxygen talking.

This is not real.

You are confused and need rest.

I tried to explain that I was thinking clearly, that this was the most certain I had ever been about anything, but he would not listen.

My father started pacing the small hospital room, speaking rapidly in Arabic.

He said I had dishonored our family.

He said I had betrayed my mother’s teachings on my grandfather’s legacy.

He said that if word got out that a member of the royal family had converted to Christianity, it would bring shame on our entire lineage.

He said I was no longer his son, that I had chosen to spit on everything he had taught me.

I let him rage without defending myself.

I understood his anger because I knew how serious this was in our culture.

Apostasy from Islam is considered the worst possible betrayal.

It is punishable by death in many Muslim countries.

Even though we were in America where I had legal protection, my father’s rejection was devastating.

This was the man who had taught me to read, who had celebrated all my achievements, who had loved me my entire life.

And now he was cutting me off completely.

Before he left my hospital room, my father said one final thing.

You are dead to me.

I will tell your mother that you died of the heart attack.

That will be easier for her than knowing the truth.

You will receive no more money from me.

You will not be welcome in our home if you ever try to contact any family member.

I will have you arrested.

You chose Jesus over your own father.

Now live with that choice.

He walked out without looking back.

I broke down crying after he left.

Not because I regretted my decision to follow Jesus, but because losing my father’s love was the most painful thing I had ever experienced.

I had known this would happen.

Jesus had warned me during my death experience that following him would cost me everything.

But knowing something intellectually is very different from experiencing it emotionally.

The grief was crushing.

Chaplain Rebecca visited me later that day and found me still crying.

She sat with me and let me express all my pain without trying to make it better with quick answers.

She said that following Jesus often means losing the people we love most.

She reminded me that Jesus himself was rejected by his own people.

She read me a passage from the Bible where Jesus said, “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.

” Those words gave me strength to accept my father’s rejection.

The hospital discharged me after 9 days total.

I had to take multiple medications for my heart and attend cardiac rehabilitation three times a week.

But physically, I was recovering well emotionally and spiritually.

I was in turmoil.

I moved back to my apartment, but it no longer felt like home.

Everything reminded me of my old life as a Muslim.

My prayer rogue was still rolled up in the corner.

My Quran was still on the bookshelf.

Photos of my family were still on the walls.

David helped me pack up all my Islamic items.

We put them in boxes to donate or throw away.

It felt strange getting rid of things that had been so important to me just two weeks earlier.

The Quran that I had memorized from, the prayer beads that I had used thousands of times, the decorative calligraphy with Arabic verses.

All of it represented a version of myself that no longer existed.

I called my bank and discovered that my father had already cut me off financially.

My account, which usually had over $200,000, now had only $3,847.

That was money I had earned from a summer internship, not money from my father.

The apartment lease was paid through the end of the semester.

But after that, I would need to find somewhere cheaper to live.

My Lamborghini would have to be sold.

My expensive clothes and watches would need to go, too.

I was going from being a wealthy prince to being a poor college student overnight, but God provided for me in unexpected ways.

Chaplain Rebecca connected me with a local church called Grace Fellowship.

The pastor Marcus Johnson invited me to share my testimony at a Sunday service.

When I stood up and told the congregation about dying and meeting Jesus, many people cried.

After the service, at least 20 people came up to offer help.

Someone offered me a room in their house for free.

Someone else offered me a job at their company.

Another person gave me a car to use.

The church became my new family.

They threw me a baptism party in February 2024, just 3 months after my heart attack.

I stood in the baptism pool wearing white clothes and Pastor Mark said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

” He pushed me backward under the water and when I came up everyone was cheering.

It was the complete opposite of my father’s rejection.

These Christians who had known me for only a few months celebrated me more than my Muslim family ever had.

I graduated from Rice University in May 2024 with my business degree.

My father did not attend the ceremony, but my church family filled an entire row of seats.

They took photos and celebrated with me afterward.

Pastor Mark told me he was proud of how I had remained faithful to Jesus despite losing everything.

He said my story was inspiring other Muslims in Houston to question their own faith.

Several Muslim students from Rice contacted me privately to ask about my conversion.

They had heard rumors and wanted to know if it was true that I had seen Jesus.

I met with each one individually and shared my full testimony.

Three of them ended up accepting Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

Seeing other Muslims come to faith because of my story made all my suffering worth it.

In August 2024, I started working at a Christian ministry called Cresant Project that specifically reaches out to Muslims with the gospel.

My job is to share my testimony and help other Christians understand how to talk to Muslims about Jesus.

I travel to churches across America telling my story every time I share.

At least a few Muslims in the audience or watching online end up contacting me to learn more about Jesus.

I still miss my family every single day.

I still grieve the loss of my father’s love and approval.

Sometimes I look at photos from my childhood in Saudi Arabia and cry over everything I have lost.

But then I remember what I have gained.

I have gained Jesus who is worth more than all the money and status in the world.

I have gained eternal life which my Islamic rituals could never have earned.

I have gained a new family in Christ who loves me unconditionally.

Look inside your own heart right now and ask yourself this question.

What is keeping you from fully surrendering to Jesus? Is it fear of what others will think? Fear of losing relationships or money or status? I am telling you from personal experience that anything you give up for Jesus he will repay a h 100 times over not necessarily with earthly wealth but with peace purpose and the presence of God himself.

The Saudi prince who flatlived in that ICU and met Jesus no longer exists.

In his place stands Faizal Johnson adopted into the family of God serving Jesus with everything I have.

If God can save a Muslim prince and that transform his entire life, he can absolutely save you too.

Jesus is calling you right now through this testimony.

Do not wait for a neardeath experience to discover the truth.

Accept him today and find the love that changes.