God is with us, Manuel, in a literal, tangible way.

We remained hidden in that valley for hours, moving stealthily among the rocks, listening to the vehicles patrolling the area.

As evening fell, the search sounds gradually faded away.

Apparently, they had lost our trail or assumed we had perished in the tornado.

When night arrived, we continued our journey under the stars, guided by Manuel’s GPS and the old skill of sailors navigating by the constellations.

The cool night air was a bomb after the scorching heat of the day.

“We are close to the meeting point,” said Manuel around midnight.

“There is an old well used by the Bedawins.

One of our contacts should be waiting there.

The well appeared as a dark shadow against the starry horizon.

We approached cautiously, aware that it could be a trap.

Manuel whistled a particular tune, a sequence of three notes that sounded like a night bird.

After a tense moment, the response arrived.

The same whistling pattern from the shadows near the well.

It’s him, sighed Manuel with relief.

A figure emerged from the darkness.

An elderly man dressed in traditional Bedwin attire.

His face weathered by decades of desert life.

Salam allaykum, he greeted in a deep voice.

Allaykum salam, we responded in unison.

I am Abbas, introduced the old man.

Manuel, your wife has been very worried.

The storm delayed everything.

We know, replied Manuel.

But God has guided us here.

Abbas nodded solemnly.

He always does for those who trust in him.

He looked at us more closely.

You are injured and exhausted.

Come, my camp is nearby.

I will offer you hospitality before continuing the journey.

If you have ever experienced God’s protective hand in your life, share this testimony.

We follow Abbass to a small Beduin camp hidden among dunes.

It consisted of three traditional tents arranged in a semicircle with a modest fire in the center.

He welcomed us with the legendary hospitality of the desert, hot tea, freshly baked bread, and a simple but comforting stew.

While we ate, Abbas told us that he had been a Muslim all his life until years ago a Christian missionary treated a potentially deadly wound when no one else was willing to help him.

That man showed me the love of Christ through his actions, not just his words, Abbas explained, “Since then, I have been a secret follower of the way, and now I help others like you find freedom.

” As Abbas spoke, I became fully aware of what it meant.

I would never see Saudi Arabia again.

My home, my culture, my family, all left behind.

The freedom in Christ came with a price I was only beginning to fully understand.

That night, we slept deeply for the first time in days, protected by Bedwin hospitality and Abbas’s watchfulness.

Before falling asleep, I heard Abbas singing softly in Arabic.

It wasn’t a traditional Islamic melody, but something different.

As I paid attention, I recognized the words.

It was Psalm 23 in classical Arabic.

The Lord is my shepherd.

I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

Tears welled up in my eyes as reality hit me.

Here in the midst of the most hostile desert, in one of the most restrictive countries for the Christian faith, God had his people worshiping him in secret.

The persecuted church was real.

It was alive, and I was now part of it.

At dawn, we set out as planned.

Abbas guided us on camels through ancient routes known only to the Bedawins.

We avoided roads, checkpoints, and settlements.

By noon, we had reached a remote point where only a small pile of rocks marked the invisible border between Saudi Arabia and Iraq.

“Here we part ways,” said Abbas, pointing toward a dust cloud approaching from the Iraqi side.

“That is their transport.

An old truck stopped at some distance.

The driver, a stocky man with a thick mustache, greeted us with a wave.

May the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob protect you.

Blessed us Abbas and may his testimony bring light to many living in darkness.

I embrace the old man with deep gratitude.

I will never forget what you have done for us.

I didn’t do it, he replied with a serene smile.

It has been Christ in me just as it was Christ in Yousef, in Manuel, and in all those who have risked their lives to save yours.

Remember that when you are safe, your life no longer belongs to you.

It has been rescued with a purpose.

With those words echoing in my mind, we crossed the border into Iraq, leaving behind the country that had seen me born, grow, and almost die.

but also the country where I had met Christ, where I had experienced the transformative power of his love, and where I had witnessed undeniable miracles that sealed my faith forever.

The following days were a whirlwind of constant movement, changing identities, and the gradual transition from fugitive to refugee.

The journey from the Iraqi border to Basra was tense but uneventful thanks to our driver Mahmud, an Iraqi Christian who had survived ISIS persecution and now dedicated his life to helping other believers in danger.

In Basra, we stayed in a small apartment above a grocery store owned by a Calaldian Christian family.

The ancient Christian community of Iraq, though diminished by decades of war and persecution, still maintained surprisingly effective support networks.

It was in that modest apartment that for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I was able to attend a Christian service without fear.

During that week in Basra, Manuel received worrying news through our network of contacts.

The story of my escape had caused a stir in Saudi security circles.

As Ysef had predicted, the authorities were too embarrassed to publicly admit that a highprofile prisoner had escaped.

The official version was that he had been released after renouncing Christianity, but internally they had intensified repression against known and suspected Christians.

Manuel informed me with regret that more than 20 people had been arrested in Riyad.

Most were foreign workers, but some Saudis as well.

They are determined to dismantle the entire network.

Guilt hit me like a wave.

All of this is because of me, I murmured.

Those people are suffering because they tried to help me.

The shepherd of the small community, a man named Elias, about 60 years old, placed his hand on my shoulder.

No, brother, they are suffering because of Christ, just as you suffered.

Like all of us who follow the lamb, we suffer in this world.

Do not carry a guilt that is not yours to bear.

” His words, though wise, barely eased my sorrow, especially when I learned that Ysef had also been arrested on suspicion of helping me escape.

The plan had only partially succeeded.

The authorities believed he had been negligent, not an accomplice, but he still faced serious consequences.

“What can we do for him?” I asked desperately to Manuel.

“Pray,” he simply replied.

“And make sure your testimony is heard.

” That was always the purpose of all this.

If your story remains silent, then his sacrifice will have been in vain.

After nearly two weeks in Basra, the time came to continue our journey.

The original plan to go to Kuwait had been abandoned due to the intensified search in the Gulf countries.

Instead, we would head to Jordan by land, and from there, we would try to get a flight to a country that offered asylum.

The farewell to the small community in Bazra was emotional.

Despite the brief time shared, they had welcomed us like family.

Elias bid us farewell with a touching blessing, reminding me once again that my story had a purpose beyond my own safety.

What you have experienced must be told, he insisted.

There are Christians in the free world who have forgotten the cost of disciplehip.

Your testimony will remind them that faith is not a comfortable pastime, but a relationship with Christ that can demand everything.

We arrived in Aman, Jordan, 3 weeks after my escape from the Saudi prison.

There, Manuel introduced me to representatives of an international Christian organization that helped persecuted believers.

They interviewed me extensively documenting every detail of my experience from my conversion in London to the miracles in the desert.

Your case is special, Sarah.

The program coordinator explained to me as a Saudi citizen from a prominent family.

Your testimony has a particular impact.

Many countries are willing to offer you political asylum, but we must proceed with extreme caution.

While we awaited the resolution of my asylum application, I received the first direct news from my family.

My brother Fisal, despite everything that had happened, had used his connections to send a message through diplomatic channels.

Mother is sick with worry.

The scandal has been officially contained, but our position is compromised.

Do not try to contact us directly.

for your own good and ours.

Start a new life and forget that you were once part of our family.

Although harsh, the words contained an implicit farewell message that I appreciated.

Faizal could have simply cut all contact, but he chose to give me that final closure.

In his way, he was protecting me by definitively severing the ties.

I responded with a brief message.

Tell mother I love her and pray for her everyday.

and to you, brother.

Thank you for this last act of compassion.

May God bless and protect you.

I did not expect a response and it never came.

Two months after my arrival in Jordan, my asylum application was accepted by Canada.

With new and legitimate documents, I boarded a flight to Toronto, leaving behind forever the Middle East, the land of my ancestors.

The organization that had helped me provided me with a small apartment and assistance during the first few months.

They connected me with a local church where I found community.

Although at first I felt like a stranger, the expressions of faith were so different.

Music with instruments, loud sermons, hugs among brothers and sisters in Christ, public testimonies.

Everything that had been forbidden in my previous life was now openly celebrated.

Gradually, I began to share my story in small groups within the church.

At first, it was painful to relive those traumatic experiences, but every time I spoke, I felt the wounds healing a little more.

People listened with amazement, often with tears, recognizing that my testimony challenged their comfortable understanding of Christianity.

A visiting pastor who heard me speak encouraged me to share my story more widely.

The body of Christ needs to hear what you have lived through, he insisted, not to feel guilty, but to awaken to the reality that we are one church, and when one member suffers, we all suffer.

With his help, I began speaking at conferences, retreats, and youth events.

At first, for safety, I used a pseudonym and avoided photographs.

aware that the repercussions could reach me even in Canada.

But over time, as my story spread, I decided to use my real name and show my face.

If I am going to speak about courage in faith, I reasoned, I must start by being brave myself.

A year after my arrival in Canada, I received a letter that would change my perspective on everything that had happened.

It came from the Philippines, sent by Samira, Ysef’s sister, and Manuel’s wife.

Dear Tariq, I was beginning.

I hope this letter finds you well and safe.

Manuel has returned home after completing his mission to take you to safety, and now I can share news that has arrived through our network.

My heart was pounding as I continued reading.

My brother Ysef was released after 3 months of detention.

As we suspected, he was punished for negligence.

But they did not discover his faith, nor his direct complicity in your escape.

He is now in a neighboring country, waiting to reunite with us someday.

” I sighed in relief.

“At least Ysef had survived.

” “But there is more.

” The letter continued, “Your testimony is already circulating in Saudi Arabia in the form of audio recordings and encrypted text messages.

The believers share it secretly as a source of encouragement amidst the persecution.

Ibraim, your cellmate, was unexpectedly released and has returned to Egypt.

He is one of those spreading your story.

The final part of the letter took my breath away.

Perhaps the most surprising.

We have received reports that your mother has been asking questions about the Christian faith.

Apparently, your bravery deeply impacted her.

And although publicly she keeps her distance from your memory, privately she has been seeking answers.

A Filipino worker in her house has been discreetly sharing about Jesus with her.

Keep praying for her, Tariq.

Your testimony is bearing fruit even in the places you thought most impenetrable.

Tears blurred my vision as I absorbed this extraordinary news.

My mother, the last person I would have imagined interested in Christianity, is now seeking Christ.

The apparent failure of my ministry in Saudi Arabia was turning into an unexpected victory.

In the following months and years, I continued to receive similar news through different channels.

My story transmitted from person to person had inspired other Saudis to question their traditional faith and explore the teachings of Christ.

Small secret communities of believers had emerged in cities where I never imagined the gospel could penetrate.

What the enemy had planned for evil, God was using for good.

My arrest, which seemed to be the end of everything, had become the catalyst for a quiet but growing movement among my people.

Brothers and sisters listening to me today, it has been 7 years since that night when I faced death in a Riad cell.

7 years since God intervened supernaturally to free this unworthy servant.

seven years in which I have seen the transformative power of Christ manifest not only in my life but in the lives of countless people through this testimony.

If this testimony is touching your heart, if you feel that God is calling you to a bolder and more committed faith, let me know by commenting your request.

Today I want to open my heart and share some lessons I did not learn in books or conferences but in the desert, in prison, and in exile.

lessons born from the crucible of suffering for Christ that marked my life forever.

On one occasion when I was in Saudi Arabia, the Lord sent a sand tornado that protected me from those coming to find me.

The same God had already stopped a train in Pakistan to save Daniel Yusf.

We are not talking about a distant or abstract God, but about a God who intervenes in human history, who continues to part seas as he did in the time of Moses, who sends angels amid storms and who opens prisons like in the days of Peter.

He is real, close, and his miracles are not spectacles.

They are part of his eternal purpose.

My faith was tested firsthand.

The moment I was demanded to deny Christ or lose my life, I understood that all external forms of religiosity fade in the face of that decision.

There the truth of the heart is revealed.

Who is Jesus really to me? He was not a cultural tradition nor a simple inherited creed.

He was my Lord, my Savior, and my everything.

The one for whom it was worth risking everything.

And I understood that suffering is never just personal.

The fire refineses, yes, but it also has a greater purpose.

That our testimony ignites the faith of others.

If my story were limited to saying that today I am safe in Canada, it would be incomplete.

I was rescued to proclaim, to inspire, to remind that the gospel remains the power of God in the darkest corners of the world.

As Yousef, a brother in faith, told me, “Your life no longer belongs to you.

It was rescued for a purpose.

And there is something else I will never stop repeating.

No one is beyond the reach of grace.

I saw it in my own family.

When my mother, deeply devout in Islam, began to seek Christ silently.

I saw it in Ysef, a prison guard who ultimately surrendered to Jesus.

If God can reach them, he can touch any heart.

That is why you should never lose hope in praying for those who seem most closed off.

The same spirit that blows in the deserts of Arabia is also working in those close to you.

Brothers and sisters, allow me to speak to you directly now.

Perhaps you will never face the physical persecution I faced.

Perhaps you will never have to choose between Christ and life itself.

But we all face daily decisions where we must choose between fidelity or compromise, courage or conformity, truth or comfort.

Your dessert may be a terminal illness that tests your faith to the limit.

Your prison can be an addiction that keeps you chained year after year.

Your torture can be a fractured marriage that makes you question God’s goodness.

Your death sentence can be a medical diagnosis that gives you six months to live.

In those moments, remember the God who stopped a train in Pakistan, who sent a sand tornado in the Saudi desert, who opened prison doors in Riyad, is the same God who is with you right now.

He never changes.

His power has not diminished.

His love for you has not waned.

And just as he used my testimony to inspire others, he will use your faithfulness amidst your circumstances to impact lives you don’t even know.

Before I finish, I want to pray for you, especially for those who are going through their own spiritual desert, their own dark night of the soul.

Heavenly Father, in the name of your son Jesus Christ, I lift before you every brother and sister who is listening to this testimony.

You know every heart, every struggle, every doubt, every fear.

For those who are in their own desert, facing circumstances that seem impossible to endure, I ask you to manifest yourself in a powerful and tangible way, show them that you are real, that you are present, that you have the power to intervene supernaturally in their lives.

For those whose faith has become comfortable or lukewarm, may this testimony reignite the passion for you that they once had.

Remind them that following you was never an invitation to an easy life, but to a meaningful life, an adventure of faith that is worth any sacrifice.

And for those who still do not know you personally, who have heard this testimony out of curiosity or by chance, I ask you to use these imperfect words to touch their hearts.

May they not rest until they find in you the peace that surpasses all understanding.

The love that overcomes all fear, the truth that frees every soul.

In the name of Jesus, who stopped trains, calmed storms, opened prisons, and continues to transform hearts in the 21st century.

Amen.

Dear brothers, before I say goodbye, allow me to leave you with the verse that became my anchor during these seven years since that night in prison.

It is in the book of Romans chapter 8:es 35-39.

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Tribulation or distress or persecution or hunger or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written, for your sake we are killed all the day long.

We are counted as sheep for the slaughter.

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

Therefore, I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This promise is as true in the jails of Riad as in the churches of Toronto.

As powerful in the scorching desert as in comfortable western homes.

As real for the persecuted Christian as for the believer in freedom.

If these words touch your heart, I invite you to let them resonate in your life.

Share this message with someone walking through their own spiritual desert.

Someone who needs to remember that God’s power remains real in this world.

Also pray for the persecuted church in Saudi Arabia, North Korea, Iran, Afghanistan, Somalia, and so many nations where following Jesus means risking everything.

Ask the Lord to keep them safe, to strengthen them, and that their testimonies ignite hope in entire peoples.

And don’t stop there.

Examine your own life.

Ask yourself what things Christ is asking you to surrender today.

What securities or comforts do you cling to for fear of letting go? What identity are you protecting so as not to lose it? Jesus love is so great that it is always worth more than any sacrifice he asks of you.

I am 43 years old and I have been sharing what Christ has done in my life for 7 years.

from Toronto, Canada.

I raise my voice once again to tell you that the same God who opens prisons, stops trains, and calm storms can also transform your life today.

Because it is written, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

 

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