My uncle, a man who was deeply entrenched in the religious establishment, entered my room.

He was looking for a contact number on my phone.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was standing there holding my phone.

His face was a mask of cold fury.

On the screen was the Bible app opened to the book of Romans.

He looked at me and the silence in the room was heavier than the silence of the grave.

“What is this, Fasil?” he asked, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

I froze.

I knew this moment would come.

I had played it out in my head a thousand times.

I could lie.

I could say I was researching to debate Christians.

I could say it was a mistake.

I could save my skin.

And then I remembered the face of Jesus.

[snorts] I remembered the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.

Asterisk I call you son.

I took a deep breath.

It felt like that first gasp in the morg all over again.

A choice between death and life.

It is the angel uncle I said using the Arabic word for the gospel.

It is the truth.

He threw the phone across the room.

It smashed against a marble wall shattering the screen.

truth.

He screamed.

You call this filth truth.

You are a prince of Saudi Arabia.

You are a guardian of the faith.

Have you lost your mind? Have you been possessed by a devil in that accident? I walked towards him calm in a way I had never been before.

No, uncle, I said.

I was dead and Allah did not save me.

Jesus saved me.

He is not just a prophet.

He is the son of God and I am his follower.

The slap came so fast I didn’t see it.

It knocked me to the ground.

My uncle stood over me, his chest heaving.

Do you know what you are saying? He hissed.

Do you know the penalty for this? If you utter those words outside this room, you are dead.

We will kill you ourselves to wash away the shame.

He gave me an ultimatum.

A choice that would define the rest of my life.

You have 24 hours, he said.

You will renounce this madness.

You will go to the mosque and repent publicly.

You will burn that digital poison.

Or you leave.

And if you leave, you are no longer our son.

You are no longer a prince.

You will leave with nothing.

No money, no cars, no passport.

You will be dead to us.

He stormed out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.

I sat on the floor of my magnificent bedroom, surrounded by millions of dollars of luxury.

I looked at the smashed phone.

I looked at the wardrobe filled with designer clothes.

I looked out the window at the city I loved.

I knew he wasn’t bluffing.

I had seen what happens to apostates.

I had 24 hours to choose between the world and my soul, between being a prince of Saudi Arabia or a child of God.

That night was the longest of my life.

The enemy whispered in my ear asterisk, “Just fake it.

Just repent outwardly and believe inwardly.

Keep the money.

keep the safety.

But I couldn’t.

I had seen the two gates.

I knew that the palace was just a nicer waiting room for the dark gate.

I knew that Jesus was the only way to the light.

Before sunrise, I made my decision.

I packed a small bag.

I didn’t take any jewelry.

I didn’t take any cash from the safe.

I walked out of my room, down the grand staircase, past the sleeping guards, and out of the palace gates.

I didn’t take a Ferrari this time.

I walked I walked away from the gold.

I walked away from the power.

I walked away from my identity.

As the heavy iron gates closed behind me, I felt a strange sensation.

I had nothing in my pockets.

I had no idea where I would go or how I would survive.

But I felt lighter than air.

I was homeless, penalous, and hunted.

But for the first time in my life, I was free.

Before I tell you where I ended up and the incredible miracle that happened in America, I want to ask you a question.

What is your price? What is the thing that is keeping you from the truth? Is it your reputation? Your job, your family? I gave up $15 million and a royal title.

And I can tell you right now, it was a bargain.

I traded dust for diamonds.

If you are holding on to something that is keeping you from Jesus, let it go.

It is not worth your soul.

The journey from Riyad to the United States is a story in itself, one filled with close calls, miracles, and the kindness of strangers.

Through a network of underground believers, I managed to get out of the country before my family could execute their threat.

I arrived in Dallas, Texas, not as a visiting dignitary, but as an asylum seeker.

The contrast was brutal.

In Riad, I had servants to wash my clothes, servants to cook my food, servants to drive my cars.

I had never done a day of manual labor in my life.

In Dallas, I was nobody.

My degrees meant nothing.

My royal lineage was a liability, not an asset.

I had to survive.

I got a job at a small restaurant working in the back.

My job was to wash dishes.

I want you to picture this scene because it is the image that defines my transformation.

It was a Friday night.

The kitchen was hot, humid, and smelled of grease and old food.

I was standing over a deep industrial sink.

My hands plunged into scalding soapy water, scrubbing lasagna bands.

My back achd.

My feet were swollen.

I was wearing a stained apron that smelled of onions.

I paused for a moment and looked at my hands.

These hands.

The same hands that used to grip the leather steering wheel of a custom Ferrari.

The same hands that used to sign checks for thousands of dollars without blinking.

The same hands that had worn a gold Rolex.

Now they were redrinkled and covered in suds.

The enemy attacked my mind in that moment.

Look at you.

The voice whispered.

Asterisk.

Look at what you threw away.

You were a prince.

You lived in a palace.

Now you are a servant scrubbing other people’s filth.

Are you happy now? Was it worth it? I closed my eyes and I let my mind go back to that moment in the morg.

I remembered the darkness.

I remembered the chains.

I remembered the terrifying hopelessness of being a slave with no master to save him.

And then I remembered the light.

I remembered the voice.

I call you son.

I opened my eyes and looked at the dirty water and I started to laugh.

It started as a chuckle and turned into a fullbelly laugh.

The other cooks looked at me like I was crazy.

Maybe I was.

But in that greasy kitchen, amidst the noise of clattering plates, I felt a peace that I had never felt in the silence of my 47bedroom palace.

I realized something profound.

In the palace, I was a slave dressed like a king.

Here in this kitchen, I was a king dressed like a servant.

I scrubbed those dishes with joy.

I scrubed them as if I was scrubbing them for Jesus himself.

Because I wasn’t working for a paycheck anymore.

I was working with the dignity of a son who knows his inheritance is not in this world.

The transition was not easy.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep, missing my mother, missing my home.

There were times I went hungry.

There were times I faced racism and rejection.

But every time the doubt crept in, Jesus would meet me.

He would provide exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.

A stranger would pay for my meal.

A church family would take me in.

It was in this season of stripping away that I met Sarah.

She was volunteering at a church event where I was sharing my testimony.

She didn’t know I was a prince.

She didn’t know about the Ferrari or the millions.

She saw Fasil, the dishwasher, who loved Jesus.

We fell in love.

Not the arranged transaction of my past life, but a genuine connection of two souls running in the same direction.

We got married in a small chapel.

There was no gold.

There were no dignitaries.

There was no royal fanfare.

But when I looked at her, I saw a wealth that my family back in Riad could not understand.

We started a ministry together, reaching out to Muslims who are in the same position I was.

Men and women who are slaves to a distant god, terrified of judgment, desperate for assurance.

We tell them the truth.

We tell them that the master is actually a father.

My life now is simple.

I drive a used Toyota.

I live in a modest apartment.

I work hard.

To the eyes of the world, I have lost everything.

I am a tragedy.

A cautionary tale of a prince who lost his mind.

But let me tell you the truth.

I am the richest man in the world.

I traded a kingdom of sand for a kingdom that cannot be shaken.

I traded a legacy of fear for a legacy of love.

Sometimes I look at the scars on my arms from the fire.

They are fading now, but they are still there.

They are my reminder.

They remind me that I died.

And because I died, I am no longer afraid of anything this world can do to me.

You can take my money.

You can take my status.

You can even take my life again.

But you cannot take my Jesus.

So here I am, Fasil, the prince who died, the man who traded a palace for a pronis.

I am sharing this story with you not to entertain you and certainly not to gain fame.

I am sharing this because the clock is ticking for all of us.

You might not drive a Ferrari at 200 km per hour.

You might not live in a palace in Rayad, but just like me on that Tuesday afternoon, you are hurtling towards an appointment that you cannot cancel.

Death is the great equalizer.

It does not care about your bank account.

It does not care about your religion.

It does not care about your good deeds.

When that zipper closes on the body bag, there is only one thing that matters.

Who is waiting for you on the other side? Is it the dark gate? the void of separation where your own efforts leave you bankrupt.

Or is it the light? Is it the face of the father who says I call you son? I lived 29 years as a slave to a religion that demanded everything but promised nothing.

I recited the prayers.

I followed the rules.

I perfected the performance.

But in the cold reality of the morg, my performance was worth nothing.

It was Jesus who stepped into the darkness.

It was Jesus who broke the chains.

It was Jesus who offered me a seat at his table.

Not because I earned it, but because he paid for it.

That is the difference.

Religion says do.

Jesus says done.

Religion says slave.

Jesus says son.

I want you to look at your life right now.

What are you holding on to? Is it your reputation? Is it your family’s approval? Is it your career? Is it your pride? I beg you, do not let those things become the chains that drag you down.

I lost $15 million.

I lost my title.

I lost my inheritance.

And I would lose it all again in a heartbeat just to hear him say my name once more.

If you are a Muslim watching this, I know the fear you feel.

I know the cost of questioning.

But I also know the emptiness in your heart because I lived with it for decades.

Jesus is not your enemy.

He is the rescue you have been secretly praying for.

He is the Issa you revere, but he is so much more.

He is the son of God and he is calling you home.

And if you are a Christian who has grown cold, who has forgotten the miracle of your salvation, let my story be your wake-up call.

Do not take your sunship for granted.

You have the greatest treasure in the universe.

Live like it, love like it, share it with a world that is dying without it.

I want to ask you to do something bold today.

If this story has touched your heart, if you feel that pull, that gravitational shift I felt in the hospital room, do not ignore it.

That is the Holy Spirit knocking on your door.

In the comments below, I want you to write two words, no longer slave.

Write it as a declaration.

Write it to remind yourself in the world that you belong to the King of Kings.

Let the comment section be a testimony of thousands of sons and daughters rising up in their true identity.

And if you want to hear more stories of how Jesus is moving in the darkest places of the earth, how he is rescuing people from the grip of impossible situations, then please subscribe to this channel.

We are building a community of believers who are not afraid of the truth.

By subscribing, you are not just watching a video.

You are joining a movement.

You are helping us get these testimonies in front of more eyes, more hearts, more souls who need to know that there is a way out of the darkness.

My name is Fasil.

I was dead for 20 minutes, but now for the first time in my existence, I am truly alive.

Thank you for listening and may the peace of Christ which surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and your minds.

I will see you in the next video or I will see you in the light.

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