Saudi Royal Guard Colonel Abandons Islam for Christianity After an Encounter With Jesus | TESTIMONY

My name is Muhammad.

I am 42 years old born and raised in the city of Bureda located in the Casim region of Saudi Arabia.

I was raised in a devout Muslim family and from childhood I was taught to follow Islam strictly to obey Allah, respect the Quran and honor the imams and the royal family.

My father was a teacher in a local Islamic school and my mother was a quiet but strong woman who covered her face in full nicap.

We prayed five times a day, fasted during Ramadan and followed every Islamic law in our household.

From a young age, I memorized large portions of the Quran and studied the hadits carefully.

I respected the Imam of our local mosque who told me that the highest honor was to serve Islam in the kingdom.

That message remained in my heart as I grew up.

When I turned 20, I decided to serve my country by joining the Saudi Arabian National Guard known as Sang.

It was a great honor for me and my family.

I passed all the physical and mental tests easily.

And from the very beginning, my supervisors saw something different in me.

I was very disciplined, always on time, and never complained.

I followed orders and paid close attention during weapons training, military drills, and Islamic ethical lessons.

Many of the other recruits came from wealthy or well-connected families.

But I was just a young man from a humble background who believed in loyalty, hard work, and faith in Allah.

I never questioned anything I was taught and I believed that everything I did was in obedience to the command of Allah and the royal family whom we were trained to see as protectors of Islam and the holy cities of Mecca and Medina.

After 2 years of service, I was promoted to sergeant, then quickly to lieutenant.

I was always ahead of others in every drill, every battlefield simulation, and every exam.

While others slept during free time, I read military strategy books and studied the Quran side by side.

My commanders noticed my dedication and within a few more years, I became a captain, leading small teams during sensitive operations.

Some of my fellow soldiers were jealous, but they could not deny my results.

I led successful patrols, cracked down on internal threats, and even assisted the Saudi Ministry of Interior on counterterrorism missions.

I never saw myself as a hero, only a servant of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the crown prince, and most of all, Allah.

I believed deeply in what I was doing.

In my eyes, I was fighting for righteousness and defending the home of Islam.

Everything changed in 2020 when Saudi Arabia came under frequent attacks from the Houthi rebels in Yemen and from ISIS sympathizers within our borders.

There were missiles, drones, floating mines, and suicide bombers.

Every week there was a new attack especially in the southern provinces like Nadron, Gizison and Assur.

The fear was real and morale among the troops was dropping.

I was now a senior captain and during one of the most dangerous attacks, our convoy was ambushed outside Nadron.

We lost several men, but I managed to lead my team out and complete the mission.

My actions were recorded in a confidential military report.

And though it never made the public news, it reached the top.

The crown prince himself heard of my name.

That was the moment my life took a different turn.

I was no longer just a soldier.

I had become an asset to the royal family.

Shortly after that, I was summoned privately to Riyad, where I was told I was being transferred to a special division.

It was the Saudi Royal Guard Regiment, the elite force responsible for protecting the king, the crown prince, and other senior royals.

This was the highest honor any soldier could receive.

I wasn’t allowed to speak of my new role, not even to my parents.

I was assigned new quarters near Alyyama Palace, given a new rank of colonel, and placed under strict orders.

My duty was to protect the monarchy from all threats, external or internal.

I trained day and night.

We handled royal transport, secret movements, and sometimes even intelligence assessments on perceived enemies of the state.

My entire identity changed.

My face was not on the news, but I was wellknown within the circles of power and security in the kingdom.

Life in the royal guard was demanding, but filled with great pride.

We were the sword and shield of the kingdom.

We answered only to the king and crown prince.

My new uniform, my new position, and the respect I received from other officers gave me a sense of purpose I had never known before.

Every morning, I would pray to Allah, thanking him for choosing me to serve the holy kingdom.

In this way, I kept my Quran beside my bed, listened to the sermons of famous imams, and gave charity when I could.

I lived by the principle of absolute obedience to Allah, to Islam, and to the royal authority, which we were taught was divinely chosen to protect the Muslim world.

I had no idea that this strong belief system was about to be shaken in the most unexpected way.

At that time, I had never questioned Islam.

In fact, I looked down on those who did.

I believe that Christianity was false, that Jesus was just a prophet, and that those who followed other religions were misguided or enemies.

Whenever we arrested spies or internal threats, and some of them turned out to be foreign Christians, I would pray for their destruction.

I was proud of how far I had come from a poor young man in Bureeda to a secret protector of the royal family.

In my mind, I had everything a Muslim could ask for.

Honor, authority, faith, and a life committed to the will of Allah.

My only focus was to climb higher, remain loyal, and defend my country until my last breath.

But something was waiting for me, something I could never prepare for, not with all my training and not with all my devotion.

A few months after my promotion to colonel in the Royal Guard Regiment, I was sent on a highly confidential assignment.

There had been whispers that the royal family would soon make a quiet move outside the kingdom, possibly for international meetings or medical treatment.

My unit was selected to inspect the southern border, especially near Nadron and Gizison, to ensure the route was safe and secure.

These areas were known for instability due to ongoing crossber attacks by the Houthis.

My mission was simple but critical.

evaluate potential threats, confirm safe paths, and report back with recommendations.

It wasn’t a public operation, and no one outside our security circle even knew it was happening.

I took a small team of trusted men with me.

We dressed in plain uniforms, traveled in regular military trucks, and moved undercover to avoid drawing attention.

We had done this many times before, but this one would change my life forever.

As we approached a narrow road near Alcuba, our convoy was quiet.

The area had seemed clear based on intelligence.

But suddenly, everything exploded into chaos.

Without warning, we were hit by a grenade thrown from the nearby hills.

The first truck burst into flames and men were screaming.

Then another blast struck my vehicle directly, flipping us into the air.

I remember hearing a deafening sound and then nothing.

Everything went black.

I felt my body slam into something hard and then silence filled the space around me.

My hearing was gone and I felt weightless like my soul had left the earth.

I didn’t feel pain, only darkness and then a strange calm that didn’t make sense.

I knew at that moment that I had died.

There was no doubt in my mind.

I was no longer inside my body.

I was no longer in this world.

The first thing I became aware of was that I was floating above the ground.

I looked down and saw the wreckage of our convoy.

I saw the burning trucks, the broken bodies of my soldiers, and then I saw my own body crushed, lifeless, lying in the sand.

It was a strange feeling to see yourself from above.

I felt no fear, just confusion.

Then suddenly, I was pulled away into complete darkness.

The darkness wasn’t just the absence of light.

It was alive.

It wrapped around me like smoke, choking, and heavy.

I started to hear screams, not just one or two, but millions coming from every direction.

Then I saw fire, deep pits, creatures I could not describe, and souls burning in torment.

I realized I was in a place of punishment.

I heard voices saying, “This is what you chose.

” And I saw imams, kings, ordinary people, all weeping, all trapped.

I was terrified.

I had thought I was righteous.

But now I knew the truth.

As I screamed for help, a sudden light appeared in the distance.

It was blinding, pure, and peaceful.

The light moved toward me, and I saw a man in white, glowing like the sun.

As he came closer, I recognized his face from the Christian videos I had once mocked.

It was Jesus.

I was speechless.

He stood before me, not angry, but full of sorrow.

He looked straight into my soul and said, “Muhammad, you were zealous, but you were blind.

You must be born again or you will perish.

His voice was like thunder and water at the same time.

I fell to my knees.

He stretched out his hand and the darkness around me pulled back.

Then he showed me things I could never forget.

Visions of the rapture where people vanished in light while others cried out in confusion.

Then I saw a world in chaos and I saw myself on the wrong side, condemned and lost.

I began to cry like a child.

I begged him to forgive me, to give me another chance.

I told him I didn’t understand before, that I thought I was doing the right thing by defending Islam and the royal family.

Jesus looked at me with eyes full of mercy.

He showed me judgment, but also hope.

I saw a road leading to a cross, a place I had never dared to imagine as holy.

He said to me again, “You must be born again.

I came to save the world, not to condemn it, but you must choose life.

” He touched my chest and I felt a wave of power go through me.

Then everything around me began to shake.

I heard thunder, saw flashes of light, and then the sound of a loud voice saying, “Go back.

Your time is not yet.

” I felt myself falling, falling fast like being dropped from the sky into the earth.

I opened my eyes to the smell of antiseptic and the sound of machines beeping.

I was back in the military hospital in Riyad with my body wrapped in bandages.

My ribs were broken.

My arm was shattered.

And I had a deep wound in my head.

Nurses were around me.

And a doctor shouted in Arabic, “He’s awake.

He’s alive.

” But I wasn’t the same man who went to Nadron.

Something had changed forever.

I had died.

I had met Jesus.

I had seen hell and judgment.

But I had also been given a second chance.

At that moment, I couldn’t explain it to anyone.

I didn’t even try.

But deep inside, I knew I had to find out more.

The Quran had never prepared me for what I saw.

My heart was burning with questions.

Who was Jesus really? Why did he come to me? And what did it mean to be born again? I kept everything to myself during those first few days in the hospital.

I was still weak and the pain was overwhelming.

But the memory of that other world, that divine presence never left me.

I would close my eyes and see his face.

His words echoed in my heart, “You must be born again.

” I started to wonder if all I had believed my whole life had been incomplete.

I remembered mocking Christians, calling them misguided.

I had even thought of the Bible as corrupted and full of lies.

But how could that be if Jesus had appeared to me in such power? And why would he save a man like me, a man who once believed Christians were cursed? As I lay there with nothing but time and pain, the burning desire to know more about this Jesus began to grow.

And though I didn’t know it yet, this desire would soon take me down a path filled with both danger and truth.

The days after I woke up in the military hospital in Riad felt like a strange dream.

I could barely move.

Tubes were in my arms, machines were beside my bed, and pain crawled through my body like fire.

The doctors told me I had survived a massive explosion, but my recovery would be slow and difficult.

My ribs were fractured, my right arm was broken, and shrapnel had torn through my shoulder.

They said it was a miracle that I was alive.

But I already knew that I had died.

I had left this world, and I had seen things no doctor could explain.

I didn’t tell anyone about it.

Not the nurses, not my fellow soldiers who visited briefly.

Not even the senior officers who praised me for my sacrifice.

I simply nodded, said Alhhamdullah, and stayed quiet.

But inside, I was full of questions.

I had seen Jesus and I couldn’t forget him.

After several weeks in the hospital, I was moved to a private recovery room.

I had to stay for months, they said.

Too many wounds needed healing.

That meant I had long days alone.

No missions, no meetings, no field training, just silence.

At first, I tried to distract myself by listening to Islamic lectures online.

I read the Quran and repeated prayers.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face again.

Jesus, the man in white, the one who pulled me out of the fire.

His words still rang in my heart.

You must be born again.

I felt lost.

My whole life had been dedicated to Islam.

I believed I was serving Allah by protecting the kingdom.

But now I felt something pulling me in another direction.

I couldn’t ignore it.

Slowly, without telling anyone, I began searching for Christian videos just to understand what had happened to me.

At first, I used my hospital tablet to visit YouTube, typing in small phrases like Jesus vision or Muslims saw Jesus.

I didn’t want to be tracked, so I cleared my history.

After each search, I watched short testimonies of former Muslims from Iran, Egypt, Pakistan, and even Saudi Arabia.

Some spoke in Arabic, others in English with subtitles.

Their words felt like my own thoughts.

They had dreams, visions, near-death experiences.

Some had also seen Jesus.

I felt chills.

I wasn’t crazy.

I wasn’t alone.

This was real.

I began to watch more.

I downloaded a Bible app secretly and began reading the Gospel of John.

At first, it was hard to understand.

But one night, I read the verse where Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

No one comes to the Father except through me.

” I froze.

That verse pierced my heart.

What if it was true? As I read more, I came across the words of Jesus when he told Nicodemus, “You must be born again.

” the same exact words I heard in my near-death vision.

I dropped the tablet in fear.

I looked around the hospital room.

It was quiet, dark, and still.

But I knew something spiritual was happening to me.

I knelt beside my bed, still in pain, and whispered, “If you are real, show me.

I want to know the truth.

” I didn’t even say Jesus fully.

I used the name I had heard in Arabic, but deep down, I meant him, the one who saved me from hell.

I prayed again the next night and the next.

Each day I read more from the Bible.

I found peace in the words of Jesus, his love, his mercy, his truth.

But at the same time, fear began to grow inside me.

I was no longer just a Muslim soldier recovering from battle.

One night, maybe 2 months into my recovery, something happened again.

I was lying in bed with the lights off, the Quran on the shelf beside me, the Bible hidden under my pillow.

I had been praying silently, not the Muslim salah, but simple words like, “Jesus, please guide me.

” Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed.

A light soft but bright filled the space.

I sat up terrified.

And then he appeared.

Jesus, the same as before, glowing, peaceful, powerful.

He didn’t speak loudly.

His voice was gentle but firm.

He said, “Muhammad, I have heard your prayers.

You are searching for the truth and I am the truth.

I began to cry.

I couldn’t stop.

He walked closer and touched my hand.

Then he said words I will never forget.

Persecution will come, but I will be with you.

Then the light faded and I was alone again.

But I knew what I had seen was not a dream.

After that night, I could no longer deny what I felt.

I had seen him twice.

I had read his words.

I had watched others share stories like mine.

But now came the real struggle.

I was a colonel in the Royal Guard of Saudi Arabia.

My identity, my faith, my loyalty, it was all tied to Islam.

If I confessed faith in Jesus, I could lose everything.

Not just my job, but my freedom, maybe even my life.

Apostasy in Saudi Arabia was not a small issue.

It was seen as a crime, a betrayal of Allah, and sometimes even punishable by death under Sharia law.

I knew this.

I had once believed it myself.

I had even agreed with it.

And now I was walking down the same path I once called cursed.

Every day I wrestled with fear.

What if someone found the Bible app? What if they saw my video history? What if I got caught? But fear couldn’t stop the hunger in my heart.

I wanted to know more about Jesus.

I wanted to understand his cross, his resurrection, and what it meant to follow him.

I downloaded more sermons, found old PDFs of Christian books, and kept asking questions.

I didn’t tell anyone, not my family, not my commanders, not even the friendly nurse who often brought me tea.

This was my secret journey, my quiet search for truth.

I asked Jesus to protect me, and every day I felt him closer.

The more I read, the more I saw how different he was.

Islam had taught me that Allah was distant and severe.

But Jesus spoke of a father who loved me, who saw me, who wanted me to come home.

I read the parable of the prodigal son, and I cried again.

I wasn’t just curious anymore.

I was falling in love with the truth.

At times, I would open the Quran again, trying to compare.

But every time I read it, I felt emptiness.

It no longer spoke to my heart the way it once did.

I still respected my upbringing and I still loved my parents, but my soul was no longer satisfied with rules and rituals.

I had touched something deeper, something real.

I was changing inside, but no one could see it yet.

I still wore the same uniform.

I still greeted people with assalamu alaykum.

I still nodded when the imam’s sermons played in the background, but inside I was being reborn.

And I knew it was only a matter of time before the secret I carried would be discovered.

But until then, I held on to one thing.

The promise Jesus gave me.

Persecution will come, but I will be with you.

That was enough for me to keep going.

By the time I was discharged from the hospital, I was no longer the man everyone thought I was.

Outwardly, I still wore the Royal Guard uniform, still stood straight with pride, and still bowed during cello when necessary.

But deep inside, my heart had shifted.

I believed in Jesus, though I had not yet spoken those words to anyone.

I returned to my official residence in Riyad, and everything looked the same.

My Quran was on the shelf, my medals were on the wall, and my security clearance was still active.

But something had changed.

At night, when the city grew quiet, I no longer recited the Quran before bed.

Instead, I pulled out my hidden Bible wrapped in a dark cloth and placed deep inside my drawer.

I would read in silence, my heart pounding.

Every verse felt like water to my thirsty soul.

Jesus was no longer a mystery.

It was my hope.

As weeks passed, I began to long for connection with other Christians.

Reading the Bible alone wasn’t enough.

I wanted to ask questions to talk to grow.

But in Saudi Arabia, this was extremely dangerous.

So, I turned to the internet using encrypted apps like Telegram and Signal.

I joined private Christian channels where ex-Muslims shared testimonies and prayer requests.

I never posted anything about my real name or job.

I used a fake profile and kept everything hidden under layers of protection.

But even behind the screen, I felt the presence of God.

We would read the Bible together, discuss sermons, and even share recorded prayers.

One brother from Egypt encouraged me with scripture daily.

A sister from Lebanon sent me digital copies of Christian books translated into Arabic.

These people didn’t know who I really was, a colonel in the royal guard, but they treated me like family.

In those quiet moments, I felt alive again.

I began to pray openly in secret.

I stopped repeating Islamic prayers and instead spoke directly to Jesus.

sometimes whispering, sometimes silently moving my lips.

I prayed for forgiveness, for wisdom, and for strength.

I prayed for my parents, my siblings, and even my country.

I still loved my people.

I just no longer believed in the system I had served.

To stay safe, I moved my Bible regularly from the drawer to under my mattress, then behind a bookshelf.

I deleted and reinstalled my apps each week, always checking for surveillance.

But my faith kept growing.

I began fasting, not for Ramadan, but as a personal sacrifice to draw closer to Christ.

I would go to the rooftop at night, look up at the sky, and say, “Lord, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I trust you.

” I didn’t want to live a double life, but I was afraid of what would happen if the truth came out.

Then one morning, everything changed.

I had just finished reading from the Gospel of Matthew, and my Bible was resting open on the desk.

I was home alone, or so I thought.

One of my fellow officers, Fisel, had a key to my quarters and had come by without warning.

He entered the room and stood frozen at the door.

His eyes landed on the Bible.

I quickly closed it, but it was too late.

His face changed.

He didn’t say a word, just nodded slowly and walked away.

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

I knew Fisel.

He was loyal to the state and had once spoken harshly against Christians during a training session.

My heart sank.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I prayed with tears in my eyes, asking Jesus to protect me.

I didn’t know what Fisel would do, but I knew the walls around me had begun to crumble.

Two nights later, at around 2:00 a.

m.

, I heard a knock at my door.

I looked through the peepphole and saw men in black suits.

They weren’t soldiers.

They were from internal security, likely under orders from the General Intelligence Presidency.

I opened the door calmly.

They didn’t shout or make a scene.

One of them said quietly, “Conel Muhammad, you are needed for questioning.

” I didn’t resist.

I put on my jacket, slipped my phone into my pocket, and followed them.

There were no media reports, no public accusations.

This was a private arrest, carefully done to avoid attention.

They blindfolded me as we entered the vehicle.

The drive was long, and I recognized none of the turns.

We were going somewhere far, somewhere secret.

I prayed silently the entire way, not knowing what awaited me.

When we arrived, they removed my blindfold inside a large underground facility.

The walls were concrete, the lights dim, and the air cold.

I was placed in a small room with a steel chair and cameras in the corners.

Hours passed before anyone came.

Then the door opened and in walked a group of men.

Two were senior imams.

The others were intelligence officers.

I had seen before in official briefings.

One of them spoke first.

We know what you’ve been reading.

We know who you’ve been speaking to.

My mouth went dry.

Another asked, “Have you betrayed the faith? Have you betrayed the kingdom?” I didn’t answer.

They placed the Bible on the table in front of me, the same one they had taken from my home.

I was silent.

One of the imams began quoting Sharia law, listing the punishments for apostasy, slander against Islam, and insulting the prophet Muhammad.

I had heard it all before, but now it was about me.

They didn’t beat me at first.

They tried to reason to bring me back.

You are a decorated officer, one said.

Why throw your life away for a western religion? Another said, you were named Muhammad.

Have you forgotten your roots? I looked at them then at the Bible.

I said softly, “I haven’t betrayed the truth.

” I found it.

That was enough.

The room went silent.

Then the interrogations became harsher.

They yelled, “Accused me of working with foreign intelligence, of being a traitor.

They said I had dishonored the royal family.

I was no longer just a man of faith.

I was now seen as a criminal, a threat to national security.

They held me in that facility for days, moving me between rooms, denying sleep, limiting food, and threatening me with execution.

I prayed constantly in my heart, holding on to Jesus promise.

Persecution will come, but I will be with you.

After days of harsh interrogations, the mood around me changed.

The officers who once shouted threats now wore silent, cold expressions.

One morning, without warning, I was blindfolded again and taken from the underground room.

We traveled for what felt like hours.

When they removed the blindfold, I found myself standing in front of a door guarded by two armed men.

I was told I would be judged by a special Sharia court, arranged in secret and hidden from the public eye.

It was somewhere in Riyad, but not in any court I had ever seen.

The room was plain with high walls and no windows.

The judges were senior imams, men I had seen on national television delivering Friday sermons.

But here there were no cameras, no journalists, no legal counsel, just silence, authority, and judgment.

They called me by name, not with honor, but with disgust.

I knew their minds were already made up.

One by one, the charges were read out loud.

Apostasy, blasphemy, slander against Islam, treason against the royal family.

They accused me of endangering national unity and insulting Allah and his messenger.

When I was asked to speak, I did not defend myself.

I simply said, “I believe in Jesus.

I have seen him.

” I cannot deny what I know to be true.

My voice shook, but I meant every word.

That was enough.

The room fell silent.

The lead imam spoke, “You are no longer a Muslim.

You are no longer a son of this land.

You are to be put to death by stoning.

” My knees buckled, but I stood firm.

There would be no appeal.

No letter to my family.

No chance for goodbye.

I was sentenced to die in secret inside a private compound far away from the eyes of the world.

My execution was scheduled for 3 days later.

I was dragged out like a traitor.

They locked me in a small dark solitary cell far beneath the main facility.

The walls were made of stone.

The ceiling was low.

There was no window, no clock, no bed, just the cold floor.

A tiny lamp flickered above me, barely enough to see my own hands.

The guards didn’t speak much.

When they did, it was only to curse me.

They called me a dog, a caffer, a shame to the prophet.

One guard kicked me in the ribs just for looking up at him.

Another spat on me through the cell bars.

They brought food once a day, dry bread, sometimes old rice, but I could barely eat.

My body achd from previous beatings, and my spirit was heavy.

They wanted me to feel forgotten, alone, abandoned.

But I wasn’t.

Even in that place, I whispered to Jesus.

I spoke softly to him like a child.

I remembered his face, his promise, his love.

Each night in that dark hole, I began to sing, not loudly, but just enough for my own ears to hear.

I had memorized some psalms I found while reading the Bible in secret.

I sang verses like, “The Lord is my light and my salvation.

Whom shall I fear? And when fear tried to choke me, I repeated, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

” I remembered the testimony of Paul and Silas in prison.

I imagined them chained in darkness, singing praises at midnight.

I felt close to them.

I felt close to Jesus.

No matter how much the guards insulted me, no matter how cold the floor felt, I refused to let go.

I was a man condemned by the court of men, but I knew I had been accepted by the court of heaven.

I had nothing left but faith, and it was enough.

The beatings didn’t stop.

On the second day, two guards came into the cell and dragged me out.

They beat me with rubber rods, not enough to kill me, but enough to make me scream.

They said it was preparation for what was coming.

I tried not to cry in front of them.

But when they left, I curled into a corner and wept.

Not just from the pain, but from the loneliness.

I thought of my mother.

I thought of my old life.

I thought of how I once judged others who believed in Jesus.

And now I was one of them about to die for him.

Yet somehow I felt honored.

I felt like I was sharing in his suffering.

I remembered how Jesus was beaten, mocked, and spat on, too.

I prayed, “Lord, help me to endure.

Help me not to deny you.

My tears fell silently, but my spirit held on with strength I didn’t know I had.

On the third night, the night before my execution, I knew my time was almost over.

I lay on the floor, my face pressed into the dirt, and I prayed like never before.

I didn’t ask to live.

I didn’t ask for revenge.

I just cried out for mercy.

I said, “Jesus, if it is your will that I die, give me courage.

But if you still have work for me, save me.

I am yours.

I trust you.

I believe you.

Please do not let me die in this place without seeing your glory.

I sang softly again, and the words echoed in the silence.

My lips trembled as I whispered, “I know my redeemer lives.

” I thought of Paul and Silas again.

How the prison shook, how their chains fell.

I didn’t expect anything, but my soul waited.

I held on to every word Jesus had spoken to me.

Persecution will come, but I will be with you.

That was all I had left.

I didn’t sleep that night.

My body was weak, my skin burning from the beatings, and my soul trembling before dawn.

I knew they would come for me at sunrise.

My hands were tied, and my thoughts were spinning.

I whispered one final prayer, the kind that comes from deep sorrow and desperate faith.

Jesus, have mercy.

Don’t leave me.

I don’t want to die here.

Then something strange happened.

The air in the cell changed.

It was no longer cold.

A warm breeze moved through the cracks in the wall.

I looked up and that’s when I saw him.

A man dressed in white standing inside the cell without making a sound.

His robe glowed softly.

His face was calm.

I blinked unsure if I was dreaming.

Then, without saying a word, he walked toward the door, touched it, and it unlocked by itself.

No guards, no alarms, just silence and freedom waiting.

I stood up slowly, afraid it was a trap.

But the man in white turned to me and nodded gently.

His presence gave me peace.

I followed him out of the cell and into the hallway.

The corridor was empty.

Not a single camera blinked.

No voices, no footsteps, just the quiet echo of my own breathing.

We moved through several turns down staircases and through narrow doors.

Every path he took was unknown to me, as though this part of the compound had never existed.

Yet, it felt like he knew every corner.

As we stepped outside, I saw the stars again for the first time in days.

The sky was wide, black, and filled with light.

We walked across a deserted yard, then through a back gate that should have been locked.

Again, the man touched it, and it opened silently.

On the other side was dry sand and emptiness, the edge of the city.

He turned to me once more.

Then just like that, he vanished.

I stood there alone, stunned, breathing heavily.

I looked around, calling out, but there was no answer, no footprints, no sound.

I fell to my knees in the sand, overwhelmed.

Was that an angel? Was that Jesus? I asked aloud.

I didn’t understand what had happened, but I knew it was not normal.

It couldn’t be explained.

A man doesn’t just escape a maximum security execution site in Saudi Arabia without detection.

But somehow I had.

My heart was racing and my body achd.

But I was alive.

As I stumbled forward, unsure where to go, I saw headlights in the distance.

A small bus approaching, rattling over the dirt road.

I stood and waved my hand.

Though I didn’t expect it to stop, but it did.

The driver leaned out of the window, eyes wide.

He looked at me like he had seen a ghost.

He asked, “Are you the one?” I nodded confused.

“Get in, please, quickly.

” Inside the bus, the man introduced himself.

His name was Yousef, a simple Christian from Tabuk who often transported goods across cities.

He looked at me and tears filled his eyes.

He said, “Three nights ago, the Holy Spirit told me to leave my usual route and come down this road tonight.

I didn’t know why.

I just obeyed.

I couldn’t speak.

I looked at him shocked.

I said, “You’re a Christian?” He nodded.

I began to cry.

He reached over and held my arm as I trembled.

We drove slowly into the open desert road.

I told him everything from my death at the border, my vision of Jesus, the hospital, the second encounter, the arrest, and now this escape.

He listened quietly, then whispered, “God is real.

Jesus is real.

He saved you just like he saved me.

We both cried.

It was the first time I had told my full story to another believer.

I felt safe.

We had to move carefully.

Yousef knew that if anyone recognized me or stopped the bus, it could be the end.

But I had something they didn’t.

Military escape knowledge.

During my time in the Royal Guard, I had memorized underground paths, surveillance blind spots, and unofficial supply routes used by intelligence officers during high-risk transfers.

I gave Yousef directions to avoid main checkpoints, leading us through abandoned oil roads and desert passes.

I had never imagined I would use these routes to save my own life.

As we drove through the night, I kept praying.

I thanked Jesus for every mile we crossed.

I looked behind often, expecting someone to follow us, but no one came.

We passed through Alcare, taking the old trail leading toward the Jordanian border.

The terrain was dry and the wind loud, but we kept going.

Every moment felt like a miracle.

The hand of God was guiding us.

At one point, we stopped briefly near a closed fuel station.

Yousef gave me water and a piece of bread.

I hadn’t eaten in nearly 2 days.

He didn’t ask many questions, but every now and then he would say, “Jesus is faithful.

He doesn’t leave his own behind.

” I nodded through tears.

I had gone from being a prisoner sentenced to death to a man running for freedom beside a brother in Christ.

It felt like a dream, but it was real.

The road was long and silent, but filled with peace.

As the sun began to rise, we reached the final stretch near the Alhadatha border crossing, but not through the official gate.

I showed Yousef a lesserknown dirt path once used by military convoys avoiding public inspection.

It was narrow and dangerous, but we made it.

I couldn’t stop praying.

I knew once we crossed into Jordan, I might finally breathe without fear.

We crossed into Jordan just before the sun rose completely.

My heart was racing, but I knew Jesus had carried me this far and wouldn’t let go now.

Yousef drove us into Aman, the capital city, where tall buildings met old streets filled with early morning traffic.

It felt strange to be so close to freedom and yet so far from everything I had ever known.

I kept my head low and changed into a plain rogue Yousef gave me.

As soon as we arrived, he took me to a quiet house in a backstreet neighborhood.

Inside were three men and one older woman.

They welcomed me with warm eyes and open arms.

No questions, no judgment, just love.

Yousef told them, “This is our brother.

He has seen Jesus.

” One of them said softly, “You are safe now.

” I wept, not because I was afraid anymore, but because I finally felt home in Christ.

These believers were part of an underground Christian fellowship.

They met secretly in different homes and basement, worshiping in whispers, but with hearts on fire.

In the days that followed, I stayed mostly indoors, hiding from view.

Saudi intelligence was still looking for me.

The government couldn’t allow news of my conversion and miraculous escape to leak out.

It would shame them.

The monarchy, the military, the clerics.

None could explain how a man sentenced to death by stoning had disappeared without a trace.

And worse, how he had become a Christian.

So instead of making noise, they stayed silent.

No press reports, no public manhunt, but I knew they were working in the shadows trying to find me quietly and erase the evidence.

I had to be careful.

I had changed phones, identity, and appearance.

I no longer had my military uniform or badge.

I was now just Muhammad, a man in exile, hidden under the shadow of the Almighty.

Every day in Aman brought new emotions.

Sometimes I missed my family deeply.

I thought of my mother’s warm meals, my younger brother’s jokes, my father’s quiet wisdom, but I couldn’t reach out.

If they found out where I was or what I had become, they would be in danger or worse, disown me.

I also thought of my former colleagues in the Royal Guard.

If any of them saw me now, they wouldn’t recognize me.

And if they did, they might report me.

But in the middle of all this, I felt something I had never truly known before.

Peace.

Not the peace that comes from having power or medals or praise.

This peace came from knowing Jesus, from knowing that even if the whole world rejected me, he would never leave me.

I spent hours praying, studying the Bible, and writing down everything I could remember about my visions and my escape.

My life now belonged to him.

One evening, while the others gathered quietly to sing and read scripture, I sat in a corner and reflected on the words Jesus spoke to me.

I remembered his voice during my near-death experience.

You must be born again or you will perish.

I remembered his second visitation in the hospital.

Persecution will come, but I will be with you.

And I remembered what he showed me.

Hell, the end of time, the truth I had once ignored.

I had given up everything.

My title, my country, my past.

But I had gained everything that truly matters.

One verse stayed in my heart day and night.

Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

I whispered it as I walked through the streets in disguise.

I whispered it in the dark room before sleeping.

That promise from Jesus gave me strength.

I had lost my old life, yes, but I had found eternal life and it was worth the cost.

I still cannot go out freely.

I don’t attend public churches or use social media.

I am careful with who I speak to, but even in hiding, I have a mission.

I speak to new believers online.

I pray for Muslims secretly seeking the truth.

I fast and ask Jesus to open the eyes of the imams, the princes, the soldiers, people like I once was.

My testimony has been shared quietly through the underground church.

Not with my full name, but with enough detail to show God’s glory.

I’ve spoken to others who had dreams of Jesus.

Some are afraid.

Some are hungry.

Some are ready.

I tell them, “Don’t be afraid.

He will protect you.

He will never leave you.

If he saved me, he can save you, too.

I may be in exile on this earth, but I am a citizen of heaven.

And nothing, no law, no prison, no stoning can take that away from me.

” As I write this now, I sit in a borrowed room lit by a small lamp.

I have no riches, no title, no protection, but I have Jesus, and he is enough.

I don’t know what the future holds.

Maybe I’ll never return to Saudi Arabia.

Maybe I’ll never see my family again.

But I pray for them every day.

I ask the Lord to reveal himself to them as he did to me.

I dream of the day when we can worship together openly, freely, without fear.

Until then, I will continue to live in the shadows, but with the light of Christ burning in my heart.

I remember who I was, a royal guard, a man of rank and duty.

But now I am something greater.

Not by my strength, but by God’s grace.

I am his and no one can take that from me.

To those reading or hearing my story, I leave you with this final message.

I gave up the royal guard, but I gained the King of Kings and he is worth it.

Jesus is not a prophet only.

He is the son of the living God.

He is the savior of all mankind.

If he could reach a man like me, a soldier sworn to silence and loyalty, he can reach anyone.

If he could walk into a prison cell on the night before my death and open the door, he can walk into your heart and give you life.

I have no regrets.

I found the truth.

I found mercy.

I found freedom.

And now I live not by the sword, not by power, but by grace.

Jesus lives.

Jesus saves.

And I am forever his.

To my brothers and sisters in Saudi Arabia and to all Muslims across the world who may be listening, I speak to you with love, not hate.

I was once like you.

I believed in Islam.

I honored Allah.

I prayed five times a day.

And I respected every imam and scholar who taught me.

I was loyal to the Quran, loyal to the mosque, loyal to the kingdom.

But I tell you today, I saw Jesus, the son of God, with my own eyes.

He came to me when I died.

He showed me the hell that awaits those who reject him and the paradise prepared for those who follow him.

And he told me with a voice full of love and truth.

You must be born again or you will perish.

This is not a dream.

This is not imagination.

This is not insult.

This is truth.

You may hate me.

You may reject my words.

But I beg you, search for Jesus while you still have time.

Read the angel, the gospel.

Ask God with a sincere heart.

Who is Jesus? And be ready because he will answer.

He answered me, a loyal royal guard colonel from Riad who once hated Christians.

He answered others in secret prisons, in war zones, and even in mosques.

He will answer you.

But you must open your heart before it is too late.

I do not say this as your enemy.

I say it as one who escaped death to give you this message.

You don’t know how much time you have.

The end is near.

Do not delay.

There is no peace in Islam.

There is no salvation in the law.

There is only one way to God through Jesus Christ who died for your sins and rose again.

To my Christian brothers and sisters, especially those who were born into the faith, I plead with you.

Do not take your salvation for granted.

You sing about Jesus.

You wear the cross.

You read the Bible.

But some of you live like he is not real.

I’m telling you now, he is real.

He is alive.

His eyes burned with fire.

His hands hold both mercy and judgment.

I saw him.

I heard him.

I stood before his glory.

And I trembled.

He is not a story.

He is not a religion.

He is God.

And he is returning soon.

So walk in holiness.

Pray with fear and trembling.

Love him with all your heart.

Preach the gospel boldly.

There are people in darkness, people like I once was, who need your light.

You do not know how powerful your testimony is until it reaches someone like me.

Never be ashamed of the name of Jesus.

It is the name that opened my prison.

It is the name that saved my soul.

It is the name that breaks chains in Saudi Arabia, in Nigeria, in Iran, in America, and in every corner of the earth.

I speak now as a man with no army, no title, no nation.

But I have something greater, Jesus.

And I want the whole world to know that he is worth it all.

Come to him.

Believe in him.

Follow him before it is too late.