a family in Iraq who had all come to Christ together.

ISIS fighters found out.

They gave the family a choice.

Deny Jesus or die.

The parents and their teenage son chose death rather than deny their Lord.

The two younger children, both under 10, watched their family die before Isis took them away.

No one knows what happened to those children.

These stories should have discouraged me, should have made me want to hide and stay silent.

But instead, they did the opposite.

They strengthened my resolve.

These brothers and sisters had given everything for Jesus.

How could I do any less? I increased my output.

I began making storys, though I never showed my face, just my voice speaking over images and text.

I talked about hell, about heaven, about Jesus, about the lies of Islam and the truth of the gospel.

The storys reached even more people than the written posts.

Something about hearing a human voice telling this story made it more real, more urgent, more believable.

One story went especially viral.

It was titled What I Saw in Hell: A Warning to All Muslims.

In it, I described in detail the souls I had seen, the fighters and clerics, the suffering, the hopelessness, the desperate warnings they gave me.

That story was viewed over a million times in three months.

It was shared on Facebook and Twitter and WhatsApp and Telegram.

It was translated into multiple languages.

It reached people in countries I had never heard of.

And with its spread came both blessing and danger.

More people were reading and believing and accepting Jesus.

But more people were also hunting for me, trying to identify me, trying to track me down.

I had to be extremely careful.

I never used the same internet connection twice.

I never showed identifying details in storys.

I never mentioned specific locations or names.

I used VPNs and encryption and every security measure the techsavvy believers had taught me.

But I knew that no security was perfect.

Hamas had cyber capabilities.

So did other Islamic groups.

It was only a matter of time before someone got close to finding me.

About 6 months after I left Gaza, I got word through Yousef.

Hamas had been to my family’s apartment.

They had questioned Aliyah.

They wanted to know where I was, what I was doing, why I had disappeared.

Aliyah told them she did not know that I had left without explanation.

that she had not heard from me.

This was true.

I had not contacted her.

It was too dangerous for both of us.

But Hamas did not believe her.

They came back multiple times.

They threatened her.

They said she would be held responsible if I was working against them.

They watched the apartment.

They followed her when she went out.

My family was suffering because of my choices.

My children were being harassed.

My wife was being interrogated.

My parents were being shamed in the community.

People whispered about them in the streets and at the mosque.

The guilt was crushing.

I had saved my own soul.

But at what cost? To the people I loved most.

I wanted to contact them to explain, to apologize, to tell them why I had done what I did, but I could not.

Any contact would put them in more danger, would confirm that they knew where I was or what I was doing.

So, I suffered in silence.

I prayed for them daily.

I begged God to protect them, to provide for them, to eventually open their eyes to the truth.

and I continued my work because their suffering would be meaningless if I gave up now.

The only way to honor their sacrifice was to press forward, to reach more people, to save more souls.

I began to receive invitations to speak.

Christian organizations wanted to interview me.

Churches wanted my testimony.

News outlets wanted my story.

I said no to most of them.

The exposure was too dangerous.

But I did a few carefully arranged phone interviews where my voice was disguised and my identity protected.

I wanted the message to spread, but I needed to stay hidden.

One interview was with the Christian satellite TV channel that broadcast throughout the Middle East.

The interviewer asked me if I was afraid, if I regretted leaving everything behind, if I thought it was worth it.

I told him, “Every day I’m afraid.

Every day I miss my family.

But I have seen hell.

I have seen Jesus.

I know what is true.

How can I stay silent knowing what I know? How can I let others walk into eternal suffering without warning them? My life is not my own anymore.

I gave it to Jesus the moment he sent me back.

Whether I live or die, I will use whatever time I have to tell people the truth.

The interview aired and was viewed by millions, more messages flooded in, more death threats, more people accepting Christ, both in equal measure.

Then came the close calls.

Twice in the first year, I had to relocate suddenly.

Once because someone recognized my voice from a story and reported the general area I was in.

The believers moved me in the middle of the night to a new safe house in a different town.

The second time was worse.

Hamas operatives actually came to the building where I was staying.

They were going door to door, asking questions, looking for suspicious people.

I hid in a closet while they searched the apartment below mine.

The family who lived there told them nothing, but I knew I had been seconds away from discovery.

After that, I moved every few months, whether there was a specific threat or not.

I never stayed in one place long enough to feel comfortable.

Never made friends with neighbors, never established patterns that could be tracked.

I lived like a ghost, always watching over my shoulder, always ready to run, always aware that today could be the day they found me.

But I also lived with purpose.

Every morning I woke up knowing that my life had meaning.

That I was doing exactly what God had called me to do.

That whatever suffering I endured was producing fruit that would last for eternity.

In the second year, something unexpected happened.

I received a message through the encrypted network.

It was from Aliyah.

My heart nearly stopped when I saw her name.

For a long moment, I could not bring myself to open the message.

What would she say? More anger, curses, a demand that I come back or leave them alone forever.

I finally opened it.

The message was short.

It said, “Abd, I know you are alive.

I know you are hiding.

I do not understand what happened to you, but Ila asks about you every day.

She cries for her father.

The children need to know you are alive.

They need to know you did not abandon them.

Please just tell me you are alive and safe.

I will not tell anyone.

I promise.

I just need to know for the children.

I read the message 10 times.

I wept.

I wanted so badly to respond.

To tell her yes, I was alive.

To tell her I loved her and the children.

to explain everything.

But I was afraid.

What if it was a trick? What if Hamas had forced her to send the message to draw me out? What if responding would put her in more danger? I agonized over it for days.

I prayed constantly.

I asked Yousef for advice.

He said, “It was my choice, but I needed to be very careful.

” Finally, I decided to respond.

I wrote, “I am alive.

I am safe.

” Tell the children I love them more than anything.

Tell them I did not abandon them.

Tell them I had to leave to protect them.

Someday they will understand.

I cannot say more.

It is not safe.

I am sorry for everything.

Please forgive me.

I sent the message and then waited in agony.

Would she respond? Had I just made a terrible mistake? 3 days later a reply came.

It said, “Thank you.

I will tell them.

They will be happy to know.

I still do not understand.

I still think you have gone crazy, but I know you loved them.

I know you loved us.

That is enough for now.

” I cried when I read that.

Not tears of sadness, but of relief.

She did not understand, but she knew I had not abandoned them by choice.

That was something.

After that, we exchanged a few messages every few months.

Nothing detailed, nothing that could compromise anyone’s security, just small updates.

The children were healthy.

They were doing well in school.

They missed me, but they were coping.

These messages became lifelines for me.

They kept me connected to the family I had lost.

They reminded me why I was doing this.

They gave me strength to continue when I wanted to give up.

By the third year, my reach had grown beyond anything I could have imagined.

My blog had hundreds of thousands of followers.

My storys had been viewed millions of times.

I was receiving messages from people in over 50 countries.

And the testimonies kept coming, people accepting Christ because of my story, underground churches growing, believers being encouraged and strengthened.

A man in Pakistan wrote, “I was a Taliban fighter.

I was prepared to die as a martyr.

Then I saw your story about hell.

It shook me to my core.

I started investigating.

I found Jesus.

My whole life has changed.

” A woman in Egypt wrote, “I am from a very conservative Muslim family.

I was taught that Christians were infidels, but your testimony made me question everything.

I started reading the Bible in secret.

Now I believe.

I have not told my family yet.

I am afraid.

But I know the truth now.

” A doctor in Turkey wrote, “I considered myself a secular Muslim.

I did not take religion seriously, but your description of hell terrified me.

I realized I needed to know what happens after death.

Your message pointed me to Jesus.

I am now a secret believer in a country where that is very difficult.

These messages kept me going through the hard days, through the loneliness and fear and constant danger because I could see that Jesus was using my story to reach people I could never reach on my own.

I was just a bomb maker from Gaza.

I had no theological education.

I had no special skills or talents, but I had a testimony.

I had a message.

And Jesus was using it to save souls.

I also began connecting with other converts who had similar missions.

We formed a lose network.

We encouraged each other.

We shared resources and strategies.

We prayed for each other.

There was a former Iranian intelligence officer who had converted after seeing Jesus in a vision.

He was now running a secret ministry to reach other intelligence and military personnel.

There was a woman from Somalia who had been uh raised in an extremist family.

She had escaped and converted and was now running a safe house for other female converts fleeing persecution.

There was a man from Morocco who had been a successful businessman.

He had left everything to start an underground publishing operation that distributed Bibles and Christian materials throughout North Africa.

Meeting these people, even if only virtually, showed me that I was part of a movement, a great awakening happening across the Muslim world.

Jesus was calling his people home from every nation and tribe and tongue.

We were all taking enormous risks.

We were all sacrificing greatly.

But we were seeing fruit that made it worth everything.

In the fourth year, I received the message I had been both hoping for and dreading.

Yousef wrote, “Your wife has been asking questions, real questions.

She has been reading Christian materials in secret.

She has been searching the internet.

She is starting to see the truth.

We need to be ready to help her when she is ready.

My heart soared.

Was it possible? Could Aaliyah be coming to faith? Could my prayers for her salvation be answered? I wanted to reach out to her immediately to help her, to guide her.

But Yousef advised caution.

She needed to come to faith on her own.

Any pressure from me might drive her away or put her in danger.

So I waited and I prayed more fervently than ever.

I begged Jesus to reveal himself to her just as he had revealed himself to me.

I pleaded for her soul, for my children’s souls.

Months passed.

Then Yousef sent another message.

She has accepted Jesus.

She prayed the prayer of salvation with one of our sisters.

She wants to be baptized and she wants to talk to you.

Are you ready? I could not believe it.

After 4 years of separation, after all the pain and misunderstanding, Aliyah had found Jesus.

I wrote back immediately, “Yes, yes, I am ready.

Arrange it, please.

” The call was set up through multiple security layers, voice disguisers, encrypted connections, no story, only audio.

Yousef was on the call, too, just in case there were problems.

When I heard her voice, even distorted by the security measures, I nearly broke down.

It had been so long, so very long.

She spoke first.

Her voice was shaking.

She said, “Abd, is it really you?” I said, “Yes, my love.

It is really me.

” She started crying then, deep sobbing cries that tore at my heart.

When she could speak again, she said, “I understand now.

I understand why you left.

I thought you were crazy.

I thought you had abandoned us.

But you were trying to save us.

You are trying to tell me the truth, and I would not listen.

” I said, “You were not ready then, but you are ready now.

That is all that matters.

” She said, “I saw him Abdel Jesus.

I had a dream.

He came to me and showed me his hands with the scars.

He told me he loved me, that he died for me.

I woke up knowing it was true.

Knowing everything you tried to tell me was true.

And I have been searching ever since, learning, reading, and now I believe, I really believe.

We talked for an hour.

We cried together.

We prayed together.

We praised Jesus together for his mercy and patience with us both.

Before we ended the call, I asked about the children.

She said they were well, growing so much.

Tariq was 12 now.

Leila was 10.

Omar was seven and they still asked about me, still missed me.

I said, “Will you tell them about Jesus?” She said, “I want to, but I am afraid.

They are in school.

They have friends.

They could say something without realizing it is dangerous.

What do I do?” I said, “Pray.

Ask God to show you the right time.

He will guide you.

He brought you to the truth.

he will bring them too.

We agreed to stay in contact carefully infrequently but to encourage each other.

When the call ended, I sat in my small room and wept with joy.

My wife was saved.

My prayers had been answered.

There was hope now that my children would be saved, too.

That my whole family might be together in eternity, even if we could not be together on earth.

Now 5 years after the explosion that changed everything, I continue this work.

I am still in hiding, still moving from place to place, still living under a false identity, still unable to see my family or hold my children.

But I am not alone.

I have brothers and sisters in Christ scattered throughout the world.

I have a purpose that gives meaning to every day.

I have hope that transcends my circumstances.

My blog continues to reach millions.

My storys continue to spread.

My testimony continues to lead people to Jesus.

Not because I am anyone special, but because the message is special.

Because Jesus is special.

Because truth has power that no lie can overcome.

I receive messages every single day from people who have accepted Christ, from people who have had their own encounters with Jesus, from people who have left Islam and found freedom in the gospel.

And I think about hell.

I think about it every day.

I think about the souls still going there, still being deceived, still following the wrong path.

That memory drives me.

It will not let me rest.

It will not let me stay silent.

It will not let me give up no matter how tired I am or how dangerous things become.

Because I have seen what awaits those who die without Jesus.

I have seen the torment, the suffering, the hopelessness.

And I cannot let people go there without warning them.

I cannot.

The room where I sit now is similar to all the other rooms I have lived in over the past five years.

Small, basic, temporary.

The walls are white and bare except for a small wooden cross hanging above my bed.

The furniture consists of a narrow bed, a desk with my laptop, and a single chair.

My clothes hang on hooks on the back of the door.

I own almost nothing.

But I am rich.

Rich in ways I never was when I had a home and family and community because I have Jesus and I have purpose and I have the joy of knowing that every day I am helping to rescue souls from hell.

It is early morning now.

The call to prayer echoes from a nearby mosque.

A sound that once called me to devotion, but now reminds me of the deception I escaped.

I do not resent the Muslims who pray.

I was one of them.

I understand them.

I love them.

That is why I do what I do.

I open my laptop and check my messages.

Overnight, while I slept, my blog and storys reach thousands more people.

The numbers are staggering.

Over 15 million views total now.

Messages from over 100 countries.

Lives changed in ways I will never fully know until I reach heaven.

Today’s messages include the usual mix.

Death threats from angry Muslims who consider me a traitor and apostate.

I have gotten used to these.

I barely read them anymore.

They all say similar things.

They all promise similar ends for me.

I pray for the people who send them, then delete them and move on.

But there are other messages too.

These are the ones I read carefully, the ones I treasure.

A teenager in Bangladesh writes, “I am 15 years old.

I have been having dreams about Jesus for 6 months.

My parents are very strict Muslims.

They would kill me if they knew I was questioning Islam.

But your storys have helped me understand what Jesus is trying to to tell me.

I prayed the prayer you shared.

I accepted Jesus last night.

I am so scared but also so happy.

Please pray for me.

I write back immediately.

Brother, I am praying for you right now as I read your message.

Jesus sees you.

He loves you.

He will protect you and guide you.

Be very careful.

Tell no one until you are in a safe situation.

Connect with the secret believers in Bangladesh.

I will send you encrypted contact information.

You are not alone.

An older man in Indonesia writes, “I was an Islamic scholar for 40 years.

I taught thousands of his students about Islam.

I thought I knew the truth.

But last month, I had a heart attack.

While I was clinically dead, I saw a place of fire and darkness.

I saw people I knew who had died as faithful Muslims.

They were in torment.

They were screaming about Jesus.

I did not understand.

But then I was revived and I started searching.

I found your testimony.

It matches exactly what I saw.

Everything I thought was wrong.

Everything I believed was wrong.

I am 72 years old and I am just now learning the truth.

I want to accept Jesus but I am afraid.

What will happen to me? What is What about the students I misled? My hands shake as I type a response.

Dear brother, I understand your fear and your grief.

I too carry guilt for the harm I caused when I was deceived.

But Jesus’s blood is powerful enough to cover everything.

Every sin, every false teaching, every person misled.

Continue reading….
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