I wept for the woman who had lived in silence and fear and had died the same way.

I prayed that in her final moments she had somehow encountered the Jesus that Nasrin and I had found that she was with her daughter now in paradise.

My father had also died 3 years before my mother in 2015.

The details were unclear.

Some said it was illness.

Some said it was an accident.

I did not know the truth.

When I heard of his death, I felt complicated things.

Not joy.

I had long ago forgiven him or was learning to forgive him daily, which is how forgiveness works for deep wounds.

Not satisfaction, just sadness.

Sadness for a man who had been so zealous for God that he had missed God entirely.

Sadness for a man who had sacrificed his daughter on the altar of religious pride and had gained nothing.

Sadness for a man who had died without ever knowing that Jesus, his daughter, had died proclaiming.

I prayed for him, too.

I prayed that somehow, in ways I could not understand, God’s mercy had reached even him.

I do not know if he repented before he died.

I do not know if he ever regretted what he had done.

I do not know if he is in heaven or hell.

That is not for me to judge.

That is between him and God.

But I prayed for mercy because that is what Jesus taught me to do.

Love your enemies.

Pray for those who persecute you.

I had no family left in Iran.

No ties pulling me back.

I was free in every sense of the word.

It should have felt liberating.

Instead, it felt lonely.

I was the only one left who remembered our family as it had been before everything shattered.

The only one who remembered Nasrin as a living, breathing person, not just a martyr or a cautionary tale, the only one carrying these memories forward.

But that loneliness drove me deeper into community with other believers.

They became my family.

My church, my brothers and sisters in Christ, the global body of believers.

These became my people.

I learned that family is not just about blood.

It is about covenant, about shared faith, about loving each other with the love of Christ.

Over the years, I continued to grow in my faith and in my healing.

I graduated from community college and then university studying social work because I wanted to help others who had experienced trauma.

I married my husband in 2014.

He knows my story completely.

I told him everything before we married and he has been patient with my struggles, my nightmares when they occasionally return.

My moments of grief that can strike unexpectedly even years later.

We have children now, two daughters.

When I look at them, I sometimes think of Nasin and me as children.

Before everything changed when life was simple, and our biggest concern was what we would have for dinner.

My daughters are growing up free.

They will never know the fear I knew.

They will never have to hide their faith or risk death for following Jesus.

They are American or Canadian or Australian or wherever I am now.

They are citizens of a free country and they can worship openly.

Sometimes I weep watching them.

Tears of gratitude, tears of joy, tears of sorrow for what Nasin never got to experience.

Marriage, children, freedom, life.

But I tell my daughters about their aunt whom they never met.

I tell them about Nasrin’s courage, about her love for Jesus, about how their very existence is possible because she planted seeds that grew into my faith.

They know that they are named for strong women of faith.

I gave my firstborn daughter a name that means light because Nasrin brought light into my darkness.

I tell them that following Jesus might not cost them their lives, but it will cost them something.

comfort.

Perhaps popularity may be ease certainly because Jesus does not call us to easy lives.

He calls us to faithful lives.

He calls us to take up our cross and follow him.

And crosses are never comfortable.

But I also tell them that Jesus is worth it, worth any cost, worth everything because he is not just a religion or a set of rules.

He is a person who loves them infinitely, who died for them specifically, who rose again to give them hope, who is preparing a place for them in eternity.

I still work with refugees and asylum seekers.

Many of them are from Iran, Afghanistan, other places where Christianity is forbidden.

Many of them are Muslim background believers, converts from Islam to Christianity who fled for their lives.

When I meet them, I see myself at 18, at 21, at 25.

I see the trauma in their eyes, the fear that has not yet faded, the guilt of surviving when others did not, the struggle to believe that this freedom is real and permanent.

I help them navigate the practical things, paperwork, housing, language classes, job searches.

But more than that, I help them know they are not alone.

I share my story.

I introduce them to church communities.

I pray with them.

I cry with them.

I celebrate with them when they are baptized.

When they get their citizenship, when they achieve milestones that seemed impossible just months or years before.

This work is my ministry.

This is how I honor Nasin’s memory.

She died so that I could live.

Now I live so that others can find life too.

I also advocate for persecuted Christians worldwide.

I speak at events, write articles, give interviews.

I tell people in the west what is happening to their brothers and sisters in places like Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Nigeria, North Korea.

I tell them that right now, today, people are being imprisoned for their faith.

People are being tortured.

People are being killed.

Not because they committed crimes, but because they love Jesus.

And I ask them to remember, to pray, to care, to support organizations that help persecuted believers, to not take their freedom for granted because my sister died for this faith that they can practice openly without fear.

My sister paid the ultimate price for the gospel that they hear preached freely every Sunday.

My sister gave everything for the Jesus they sometimes treat casually.

I do not say this to condemn.

I say it to awaken, to remind, to stir up gratitude and passion and commitment.

Now, I sit here 22 years after Nasarin’s death, and I want to speak directly to different people who might be listening to this testimony.

To my Muslim friends, to those who are where I once was.

I know this story is hard to hear.

I know it challenges everything you have been taught.

I know it makes you angry maybe or defensive or uncomfortable.

I understand.

I felt all those things too.

But I want you to know that Jesus loves you not as an enemy but as a beloved child.

He is not asking you to betray your culture or your family or your identity.

He is asking you to know him truly to experience the love and grace and peace that religion any religion cannot give you but that he can.

I am not asking you to convert because I converted.

I am asking you to seek truth wherever it leads to read the Bible for yourself privately and ask God to show you who Jesus really is.

to be willing to question, to be open to the possibility that God is not who you have been told he is, but someone far more wonderful.

And I want you to know that if you do choose to follow Jesus, you will not be alone.

There are millions of us, former Muslims, who found Jesus and found life.

There are churches and communities ready to welcome you, to support you, to love you.

Yes, there may be costs, but Jesus is worth it.

I promise you, he is worth it.

To my Christian brothers and sisters, please do not take your faith for granted.

Please do not treat Jesus casually.

You have freedom that believers in many parts of the world would die for, that they are dying for.

Use that freedom well.

Worship wholeheartedly.

Study the Bible deeply.

Pray fervently.

Live boldly for Christ.

And please remember us.

Remember your brothers and sisters who are suffering for the gospel right now.

Pray for them.

Support [clears throat] them.

Advocate for them.

Use your voice and your freedom to speak up for those who have no voice.

When you are tempted to compromise your faith for comfort or convenience, remember that there are believers who are refusing to compromise.

even when it costs them everything.

Let their courage inspire you.

Let their faithfulness challenge you.

Let their love for Jesus deepen your own.

To those who are seeking, who are not sure what they believe, I want you to know that what you have heard today is true.

Jesus is real.

His love is real.

The transformation he brings is real.

You do not have to be good enough or have all the answers or clean up your life first.

You just have to come to him honestly, openly and he will meet you.

He met Nasarin in a rented room in Thrron when she was broken and searching.

He met me in my grief and anger and confusion.

He will meet you wherever you are.

The gospel is this simple.

You are loved.

You are broken.

Jesus died to fix what is broken.

He rose from the dead to give you new life.

If you believe this and receive him, you are saved.

Not because of anything you do, but because of everything he has done.

It is that simple and that profound and that lifechanging.

I want to end by answering the question that I asked myself so many times in the years after Nasarin’s death.

Was it worth it? Was it worth it for Nasarine to convert? To hide her faith for years? To refuse to recant even when refusal meant death? Was it worth losing her family, her future, her life? Was it worth the pain she caused our mother, the shame she brought on our father, the grief she left me with? Nasarin answered that question herself when she stood before that crowd and proclaimed Jesus even as they prepared to kill her.

When she sang his praise even as they put the noose around her neck.

When she forgave the very people who were murdering her.

She answered with her life and her death.

Yes, Jesus is worth it.

Is it worth it for me? Am I glad I followed Nasrin’s path? Am I glad I converted even though it cost me my family, my country, my culture? Even though it meant leaving everything I knew, becoming a refugee, living in exile, carrying trauma I will never fully be free from in this life.

Every single day I answer, “Yes, Jesus is worth it.

I have lived now with Jesus for longer than I lived without him.

I have known his presence in my darkest moments.

I have experienced his peace that makes no logical sense.

I have felt his love that is steadier than anything this world offers.

I have seen him work in my life, healing wounds that should have destroyed me, bringing beauty from ashes, turning my mourning into dancing.

He has given me a husband who loves me well, children who bring me joy, a community of believers who are my true family, a purpose in life.

To share this testimony, to help others, to make Nasrin’s death count for something, a hope that transcends this world.

the sure knowledge that death is not the end.

That I will see Nasrin again.

That we will be reunited in a place where there are no more tears, no more death, no more persecution, no more pain.

Jesus is worth it.

He is worth everything I have lost and more.

He is worth everything Nasin gave.

He is worth everything.

I said at the beginning of this testimony that I am holding a photograph.

Let me tell you what is in this photograph.

It is Nasarin at age 20 before everything fell apart.

Before the arrest, before the execution, she is smiling, a real smile full of life and hope.

Her eyes are bright.

She looks young and beautiful and joyful.

This is how I choose to remember her.

Not the bruised face I saw that last day.

Not the body I could not bear to look at.

But this, my sister, alive, radiant, full of the light of Jesus.

She is not gone.

She is more alive now than she ever was here.

She is in the presence of the one she loved more than life.

She is worshiping freely, openly, joyfully in a place where no one can stop her or hurt her or kill her.

She is waiting for me there.

And one day, not yet, but one day, I will join her.

And when I do, I will run to her and hold her and thank her.

Thank her for loving me enough to tell me about Jesus, even though it put her in danger.

Thank her for giving me her Bible.

Thank her for living a life so full of Christ that even her death became a testimony.

Thank her for being brave when I was not yet brave.

Thank her for planting seeds that grew into my salvation.

And then together we will worship the one who made it all worthwhile.

Jesus, our savior, our Lord, our life.

My sister’s cross became my crown.

Her death became my life.

Her witness became my faith.

And that is what Jesus does.

He takes the worst thing, death, suffering, persecution, loss, and transforms it into something beautiful.

He turns graves into gardens.

He brings life out of death.

He makes all things new.

This is our story.

This is my testimony.

This is the gospel lived out in blood and tears and courage and faith.

And if you are hearing this, perhaps it is the beginning of your story, too.

Perhaps Nasarin’s death, my life, this testimony you have heard.

Perhaps these are seeds being planted in your heart right now.

Perhaps even now God is calling you, drawing you, pursuing you with a love that will not let you go.

Do not ignore that call.

Do not run from that love.

Do not settle for anything less than the real living Jesus who changes everything.

He is worth it.

I promise you, he is worth everything.

May God bless you.

May he open your eyes to see Jesus clearly.

May he give you courage to follow wherever that leads.

And may he give you the same peace, the same joy, the same unshakable hope that he gave to Nasarin, to me, and to millions of believers throughout history who have counted the cost and decided Jesus is worth it all.

My name is Miriam.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ.

I am a refugee.

I am a survivor.

I am a witness.

And this is my sister’s cross.

The cross that saved my soul.

 

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