There were no lights anywhere on the horizon.

There were no sounds except the sound of my own breathing and the sound of my footsteps in the sand.

I felt completely alone and abandoned in a way that I had never felt before in my entire life.

All the power and authority and status that I had possessed as a brigadier general in the IRGC meant nothing out here.

I was just a man walking alone in the desert in the middle of the night with nowhere to go and no one to help me.

I had been walking for what felt like hours when I decided that I could not continue any longer.

My body was exhausted and my mind was starting to break down from the fear and the desperation of my situation.

I found a small outcropping of rocks and I sat down behind them to try to protect myself from the cold wind that was blowing across the desert.

I sat there shivering and trying to figure out what I should do next.

I had water in my bag and some food, but I knew that if I could not find my way out of this desert soon, I would run out of supplies and I would die out here.

I thought about my wife and my children waiting for me in Riyad.

I thought about how they would never know what had happened to me.

I thought about how I had spent 40 years of my life serving the IRGC and the Islamic Republic.

And now I was going to die alone in the desert like a dog left to die by the side of the road.

So at some point in the middle of the night, I fell asleep sitting up against the rocks.

I was too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

My mind and body simply shut down and I lost consciousness.

But my sleep was not peaceful.

I dreamed terrible dreams.

I dreamed about all the people I had held torture and imprison and kill.

I saw their faces floating in the darkness.

I heard their voices crying out in pain.

I felt the weight of their blood on my hands.

I dreamed about the young woman near the Aga Sultan who had been shot during the green movement protests.

I dreamed about the protesters during the Mahasa Amini demonstrations who had been beaten and arrested.

I dreamed about the Christians I had hunted down and the families I had destroyed.

Watch all of them seemed to be standing around me in the darkness accusing me of the crimes I had committed against them.

I wanted to apologize to them.

I wanted to beg for their forgiveness.

But I could not speak.

My mouth would not open.

My voice would not come out.

I woke up suddenly in the darkness, feeling like I could not breathe.

My heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I thought it would burst.

I was covered in sweat.

Even though the desert air was cold, I looked around me in the darkness and I saw nothing but sand and rocks and the vast emptiness of the desert stretching in all directions.

And then I saw it, a light appearing in the distance.

At first, I thought it was a hallucination caused by my exhausted mind.

I thought it was my imagination playing tricks on me.

But the light was real.

It was growing brighter and moving closer to me.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before.

It was not the light of a vehicle or a flashlight.

It was something else entirely.

It was a light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

It was a light that was so bright and so pure that it should have blinded me, but instead it filled me with a strange sense of peace.

I stood up from behind the rocks and walked toward the light without thinking about what I was doing.

I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

I could not resist it.

Even though some small part of my mind was telling me that this was strange and dangerous and wrong.

The light grew brighter as I approached it.

The ground beneath my feet seemed to shake.

Or perhaps it was just my imagination.

I felt the temperature around me beginning to change.

This the cold desert air was being replaced by a warmth that seemed to come from the light itself.

And then I saw him.

A figure standing at the center of the light.

A man dressed in white robe that seemed to glow from within.

A man whose face was filled with more love and compassion than I had ever seen in any human expression.

And I knew immediately who he was.

This was Jesus.

The same Jesus that I had dismissed my entire life as a false god worshiped by infidels and enemies of Islam.

The same Jesus that I had persecuted through the Christians I had hunted down.

The same Jesus who had suddenly appeared before me in the middle of the desert.

I fell to my knees immediately.

I could not stand in his presence.

The holiness radiating from him was too powerful and too overwhelming.

I felt like all my sins were suddenly visible to him.

But I felt like he could see everything I had done in my life, every person I had hurt, every order I had given to torture someone, every protest I had helped suppress, every atrocity I had committed in the name of the Islamic Republic.

I felt like I was drowning in the weight of my own guilt and shame.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

I tried to ask for forgiveness, but I could not form the words.

How could I ask for forgiveness for what I had done? How could anyone forgive the things I had done? I had spent 40 years building a legacy of cruelty and violence.

I had helped maintain a government that had killed and imprisoned and tortured thousands of innocent people.

What right did I have to ask for forgiveness? Then Jesus spoke to me.

His voice was like music and thunder combined into one sound.

He said my name.

He said farad farad.

Why have you been persecuting my people? His words hit me like a physical blow.

I understood immediately that he was not just asking about the Christians I had hunted down.

He was asking about all the people I had hurt in my life.

All the innocent people whose suffering I had caused.

All the people who had cried out to him for help while I was beating them or torturing them or ordering their arrest.

He was asking me why I had spent my entire life serving a government that had persecuted anyone who did not fit into its vision of what a perfect Islamic society should be.

And I had no answer.

I could not defend myself.

I could only weep.

Then Jesus showed me visions.

He showed me images of every person I had helped to harm.

The faces of protesters I had beaten.

The faces of prisoners I had interrogated.

The faces of Christians I had helped arrest.

The faces of young people who had been killed during the suppressions of demonstrations.

They were all standing before me.

They were all looking at me with eyes filled with a pain and suffering.

And I understood that I had done this to them.

I had caused this pain.

I was responsible for their suffering.

The weight of it was crushing me.

I felt like I was buried under an avalanche of guilt and shame and horror at what I had become.

I wanted to die.

I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

I wanted to cease to exist because I could not bear the truth of what I had done.

But Jesus did not condemn me.

He did not punish me.

Instead, he told me something that broke me into pieces and then put me back together in a completely different way.

He told me that he loved me.

He told me that despite everything I had done, he loved me.

He told me that he had died on the cross to save people like me, people who had done terrible things, people who had hurt innocent people, people who had persecuted his followers.

He told me that if I would turn away from my sin and follow him, he would forgive me completely.

He told me that my past would be wiped away.

He told me that I could be born again and become a new person.

He told me that he had a mission for me.

He said I had carried messages of death for 40 years.

Now I would carry his message of life.

Then Jesus reached out and touched my forehead with his hand.

The moment he touched me, I felt something change inside my body.

My vision began to blur.

The light around me became dim and distant.

I tried to reach out to touch him again, but I could not see where he was anymore.

I felt panic rising in my chest.

I was afraid that he was leaving me.

I was afraid that this encounter was ending and I would be left alone again in the darkness.

I cried out his name.

I begged him not to leave me, but his voice came to me from somewhere far away, saying words that I could barely hear.

He told me not to be afraid.

He told me that I was not being abandoned.

He told me that I was being prepared for what was coming next.

He told me that there were three days of darkness waiting for me, but that at the end of those three days, I would see again and my life would be transformed forever.

When I woke up, I could not see anything.

Absolute darkness surrounded me.

I opened my eyes and blinked hard trying to understand what was happening, but there was nothing but blackness in every direction.

I reached up to touch my eyes to make sure they were actually open.

They were, but I could not see.

The vision that had been so clear and so perfect for my entire life had been taken away from me.

At first, I thought it was still nighttime and that the darkness was just the absence of light.

But as I lay there listening carefully, I could hear voices around me.

I could hear the sound of movement and activity.

I could hear the sound of people breathing and talking.

And I understood that something had happened.

I was no longer alone in the desert.

I was somewhere else.

I was in a place where other people were present.

But I still could not see anything.

I tried to move, but my body would not obey me.

I felt weak and helpless like a newborn baby or I could barely lift my head off the pillow that was beneath it.

I could not sit up.

I could not stand.

I was completely paralyzed by weakness and by the terror of not being able to see.

I called out asking where I was and what had happened to me.

An elderly voice answered me, speaking in Arabic with an Iraqi accent.

The voice belonged to a man who told me that my name was Ibraim al- Yusfi and that I was in his home in a small village near the Kuwait Saudi Arabia border.

He told me that he and his sons had found me lying unconscious in the desert early that morning.

He told me that I had been talking in my sleep saying the name Jesus over and over again.

He told me that when I woke up I was blind and that I had been screaming about what I had seen.

An Ibrahim brought me water to drink and help me sit up so that I could drink it without choking.

The water was cool and clean and it helped to ease the terrible dryness in my mouth and throat.

As I drank, Ibraim told me his story.

He told me that he was a Christian living in a Muslim country.

He told me that he had converted to Christianity 50 years ago when he was a young man.

He told me that this conversion had cost him everything.

His family had disowned him.

His community had rejected him.

He had been arrested and imprisoned several times for his faith.

But he had never regretted his decision to follow Jesus.

He told me that he and his family lived quietly in their village trying not to draw attention to their faith.

But they also tried to help anyone they encountered who was in need.

He said that when he found me in the desert.

Something in his spirit told him that I was important and that I needed his help.

I asked Ibraim how long I had been unconscious.

He told me that I had been sleeping for almost two full days.

He said that I had been brought to his home on the morning of March 3rd and now it was the evening of March 4th.

I had lost almost 2 days of my life without knowing it.

I asked him about my blindness.

I asked him if the doctors said whether I would ever see again.

Ibraim told me that there were no doctors in his village.

He said that he and his wife had cared for me as best they could.

They had cleaned my wounds and given me water and let me rest.

But they had not taken me to a hospital because they were afraid of what questions would be asked.

A stranger appearing out of the desert, blind and traumatized and speaking in Persian would attract attention that they did not want.

They had decided to wait and see what what would happen.

That night I lay awake in the darkness listening to the sounds of the house around me.

I could hear Ibraim and his family moving about.

I could hear them praying in a language that I did not understand.

I could hear them singing songs that I did not know.

And I began to understand that I was in a Christian home.

These people were followers of Jesus.

These people were the kind of people that I had spent years hunting down and persecuting.

These people were my enemies according to everything I had been taught.

And yet they had found me in the desert and brought me into their home and cared for me.

They had given me food and water and shelter.

They had treated me with kindness even though they had no reason to do so.

And I began to understand that everything I had believed about Christians was wrong.

Everything I had been taught about them was a lie.

On the second day of my blindness, Ibraim came and sat beside my bed.

He asked me what I had seen before I went blind.

I told him that I had seen Jesus.

I told him about the light and the figure in white robes.

I told him about the visions of all the people I had heard.

I told him about the message that Jesus had given me.

Abraham listened to everything I said without interrupting.

When I finished speaking, he took my hand and he told me something that would change my life forever.

He told me that Jesus was real.

He told me that Jesus was the son of God who had died for the sins of the world.

He told me that Jesus loved me more than I could possibly imagine.

He told me that everything Jesus had shown me and told me was absolutely true.

And then he asked me if I wanted to give my life to Jesus.

I hesitated.

Even though I had seen Jesus with my own eyes, even though I had heard his voice, even though I had felt his presence, I was still afraid.

I had spent my entire life as a Muslim.

I had prayed five times a day facing Mecca.

I had fasted during Ramadan.

I had dedicated myself to serving the Islamic Republic.

And now I was being asked to turn my back on all of that and follow a different God.

It felt like betrayal.

It felt like I was abandoning everything my father had taught me.

It felt like I was rejecting the faith of my ancestors.

But then I thought about what Jesus had shown me.

I I thought about the faces of the people I had hurt.

I thought about the love I had felt in his presence.

And I understood that I had a choice to make.

I could either continue serving the God of the Islamic Republic, the God of fear and violence and cruelty, or I could follow Jesus, the God of love and forgiveness and redemption.

I told Abraham that I wanted to give my life to Jesus.

I told him that I wanted to be forgiven for everything I had done.

I told him that I wanted to be born again and become a new person.

And Ibraim did something that reminded me of the stories I had read in the Bible about a man named Ananas who prayed for a man named Saul to receive his sight.

Ibraim placed his hands on my head and he prayed.

He prayed in Arabic asking Jesus to forgive me for all my sins.

He prayed asking Jesus to heal my blindness and restore my sight.

He prayed asking Jesus to transform me into a new person.

He prayed asking Jesus to use my life for his purposes.

And as he prayed, I felt something changing inside me.

I felt the weight of my guilt and shame being lifted away.

I felt the presence of Jesus surrounding me with his love and his peace.

Then something miraculous happened.

My vision began to return.

At first, it was just shadows and light.

I could see the outline of Abraham’s figure sitting beside my bed, but I could not see his face clearly.

But slowly and gradually, the world came into focus.

I could see the room around me.

I could see the walls and the furniture and the window where light was coming through.

I could see Ibraham’s face and the tears that were running down his cheeks as he continued to pray.

I could see my own hands lying on top of the blanket that was covering me.

And I began to weep.

I wept because I could see again.

I wept because I had been forgiven.

I wept because I had been transformed.

The old Farad was dead.

A new Farad had been born in his place.

Over the next few days, while I recovered my strength, Ibraim and I spent long hours talking about Jesus and about the Bible.

He gave me a copy of the New Testament in Arabic, and I began to read it with hunger and desperation.

Every word I read confirmed what Jesus had shown me.

Every story I read about Jesus healing the sick and forgiving sinners and loving his enemies spoke to my soul.

I read about a man named Saul who had persecuted Christians just like I had.

I read about how Saul had met Jesus on the road to Damascus and had been completely transformed.

I read about how Saul had become Paul and had spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel of Jesus.

And I understood that my story was just like Paul’s story.

I had been a persecutor of Christians.

I had met Jesus on a road in the desert.

And now I had been given a new mission.

I had been given the opportunity to spend the rest of my life telling people about the love of Jesus.

By March 10th, I had recovered enough strength to travel.

Ibraim helped me arrange transportation to Riyad.

He introduced me to a man who was traveling south into Saudi Arabia and who was willing to let me ride with him in his truck.

Before I left, Ibraim embraced me and told me that he was proud of me.

He told me that my life would never be the same.

He told me that I would face many challenges ahead because I was turning my back on everything I had known.

Thus, but he told me that Jesus would be with me through all of it.

He told me that I would not be alone.

And then he did something that I will never forget.

He gave me a gift.

It was a Bible.

Not a copy of just the New Testament like the one he had given me before, but a complete Bible with both the Old Testament and the New Testament bound together.

I arrived in Riyad on March 12th, 2026.

My wife and children were shocked to see me.

They had been expecting me to arrive weeks ago by airplane.

Instead, I showed up at their door, having come overland through a war zone.

having been blind and healed, having been transformed from a servant of the Islamic Republic into a follower of Jesus.

I sat down with them and told them everything that had happened.

I told them about Kamina’s death.

I told them about my escape from Thran.

As I told them about getting lost in the desert, I told them about meeting Jesus.

I told them about being blinded and healed.

My wife Nasarin whipped as I told my story.

My children looked at me with confusion and fear because they did not understand what was happening to their father.

But I told them that I had been given a new life and a new purpose.

I told them that I was no longer the man they had known.

I told them that I had been reborn in the love of Jesus Christ.

Now I am recording this testimony on March 15th, 2026, just 15 days after the death of Ali Kam and my escape from Iran.

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