He was too far above us.

But these Christians talked about knowing God, about God knowing them, about a personal relationship with the creator of the universe.

The idea was intoxicating and in terrifying at the same time.

One night, Miam called out to me as I passed her cell.

I stopped but did not turn around.

“You are afraid,” she said gently.

“I understand.

Leaving everything you have known is frightening, but Jesus is worth it.

He is worth everything.

I did not respond.

I walked away, but her words stayed with me.

That same week, the commander announced that interrogations would be increased.

He said they needed more information from the prisoners.

He wanted names of other Christians, locations of house churches, information about foreign missionaries.

I knew what this meant.

More beatings, more torture.

These people would be hurt even worse than before.

The announcement was made during our shift briefing.

All the guards were there.

After the commander finished speaking, he looked directly at me.

Wasim, you will assist with the interrogation of the prisoner David tomorrow.

Be ready.

My blood went cold.

Assist with interrogation.

That meant I would have to participate in hurting him, beating him.

Maybe worse.

I nodded.

Yes, commander.

That night I could barely do my job.

I was shaking.

I kept thinking about David, about his swollen face, about his kindness to me.

Despite everything about him praying for his torturers, how could I hurt him? How could I participate in torturing a man who had shown me nothing but gentleness? But what choice did I have? If I refused, I would be arrested.

I might be killed.

At minimum, I would lose my position and be disgraced.

I thought about running away, just leaving, disappearing into the night.

But where would I go? The Taliban controlled everything now.

They would find me and if they found me, they would kill me as a deserter.

I was trapped.

The next afternoon, I reported to the interrogation room as ordered.

Hhabib was there along with Ysef and another guard.

David was brought in hands bound behind his back.

When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly, but he did not look angry or betrayed, just sad.

They chained him to a chair bolted to the floor.

Hhabib began asking him questions, names, locations, information.

David answered some questions vaguely.

Others he refused to answer at all.

After about 10 minutes of this, Habib turned it to me.

He handed me a electric cable, the kind used for beating.

Hit him.

I took the cable.

My hands were shaking.

I looked at David.

He looked back at me.

His face was calm.

Hit him.

Hhabib repeated.

I raised the cable.

I brought it down across David’s back.

Not hard.

Not as hard as I could have, but I did it.

David flinched, but did not cry out.

harder.

Habib said, “Make him feel it.

” I hit him again.

Harder this time.

Then again and again.

Each time I brought the cable down, I felt something breaking inside me, something dying.

After several hits, Habib stopped me.

He asked David more questions.

David shook his head, refusing to answer.

Hhabib nodded to Yuf.

Ysef stepped forward with a different tool, something that would cause more pain.

I will not describe it.

I stood there watching.

I could not move, could not think.

I just stood there while they hurt him.

At one point, David looked directly at me.

Blood was running from his mouth.

His eyes were full of pain, but he spoke.

His voice was barely a whisper, but I heard him clearly.

I forgive you, brother.

Jesus loves you.

Something broke completely inside me.

I dropped the cable.

It fell to the floor with a clatter.

Hhabib turned to me.

What are you doing? I could not answer.

I could not speak.

I just stood there staring at David, tears starting to run down my face.

Get out, Habib said.

His voice was full of disgust.

Get out of here.

You are useless.

I stumbled out of the room.

I made it to the bathroom before I vomited.

I knelt on the floor, shaking, vomiting, crying.

What had I done? What had I become? I knew in that moment that I could not keep living this way.

I could not keep being this person.

Something had to change.

I did not know yet what that change would be, but I knew I had reached the end of something.

The crack in my foundation had become a chasm, and I was falling.

I did not sleep that day.

I went back to my room after my shift, but I just lay on my mat staring at the ceiling.

David’s words kept echoing in my mind.

I forgive you, brother.

Jesus loves you.

How could he forgive me? I had just beaten him.

I had participated in his torture.

Yet he spoke words of love and forgiveness.

It made no sense.

It went against everything I understood about human nature.

People do not forgive their torturers.

They hate them.

They curse them.

They want revenge.

But David had forgiven me.

I thought about Mariam blessing Ysef after he abused her.

I thought about Elas giving away his blanket.

I thought about Rashid singing in his cell at 3 in the morning.

I thought about all of them praying for us, blessing us, showing us kindness we did not deserve.

What made them like this? What power did they have that I did not have? I knew the answer.

It was Jesus.

Everything came back to him.

He was the center of their lives, the source of their strength, the reason for their hope.

But Jesus was just a prophet, just a man.

He could not be God.

That was impossible.

That was sherk blasphemy, the worst sin.

Yet these people believed it absolutely.

And their belief transformed them into something I had never seen before.

I finally fell asleep sometime in the late afternoon.

My body was exhausted even though my mind was racing and then I had the dream.

I need to tell you about this carefully because it was the most important moment of my life.

Some people might not believe me.

I understand that.

But I am telling you what happened exactly as I remember it.

In the dream, I was in a prison cell.

Not the cells where I worked, but a different cell, smaller, darker.

The walls were rough stone, not concrete.

There was no window, just a small opening high up that lit in a thin beam of light.

I was alone.

I was wearing chains on my wrists and ankles, heavy chains that weighed me down.

I could barely move.

I felt crushing despair, heavier than the chains.

I cannot describe it properly.

It was like every wrong thing I had ever done was pressing down on me all at once.

The weight of it was unbearable.

I saw images flashing through my mind.

things I had done during the war, people I had hurt, the contempt I had shown the prisoners, the hatred I had carried in my heart for years, David’s face as I beat him, all of it, all at once, and I could not escape it.

I fell to my knees under the weight.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Then the door of the cell opened.

Light poured in.

bright light, but it did not hurt my eyes.

A figure stepped through the doorway.

A man dressed in white.

I could not see his face clearly at first because of the light surrounding him.

He walked toward me.

I tried to back away, but the chains held me in place.

I was terrified.

I did not know who this was or what he wanted.

Then he knelt down in front of me.

Right there on the dirty floor of the cell.

He knelt to my level.

He reached out his hands toward me.

That is when I saw them.

His hands had scars, terrible scars, like holes that went straight through his palms.

His wrists had marks too, like he had been bound with rope or chains.

I stared at those scars.

I knew what they were.

I had heard the Christians talk about Jesus dying on a cross, nails driven through his hands and feet.

These were those scars, but he was alive.

He was right in front of me.

Alive.

He did not speak, not with words.

But I heard him anyway.

Not with my ears, but deeper inside my mind, my heart, my soul.

I see you.

I know you.

I love you.

The love that came from him was overwhelming.

It was nothing like any love I had ever felt before.

It was complete acceptance, total forgiveness, absolute love.

Despite everything I had done, despite all the darkness in my heart, despite the blood on my hands, he loved me.

I started weeping.

deep wrecking sobs.

All the guilt, all the shame, all the pain I had been carrying for years came pouring out.

I could not stop it.

He reached toward the chains on my wrists.

When his scarred hands touched the chains, they fell away.

Just fell away like they were made of paper.

He touched the chains on my ankles and they fell away, too.

Then he stood up and held out his hand to me.

I was afraid to take it.

I was filthy.

I was covered in guilt and sin.

How could I touch him? How could someone like me take the hand of someone like him? But he waited, patient.

His hand extended toward me.

Those scars visible in his palm.

Finally, I reached up and took his hand.

The moment I touched him, everything changed.

The cell disappeared.

The darkness disappeared.

I was standing in light, clean light.

I felt clean for the first time in my life.

Actually, clean.

Deep down in my soul, I looked down at myself and the filth was gone.

I was wearing clean white clothes.

The chains were gone.

The weight was gone.

I looked up at him.

I still could not see his face clearly.

But I did not need to.

I knew who he was.

Jesus.

He smiled at me.

I could not see it, but I felt it.

Warmth, joy, welcome.

Then I woke up.

Thou I sat up on my mat, gasping for air.

My face was wet with tears.

My whole body was shaking.

Sweat poured down my back.

I looked around my small room.

Everything was normal.

My prayer mat was rolled up in the corner.

My few possessions sat where I had left them.

The late afternoon sun was coming through the small window, but nothing felt normal.

Nothing would ever be normal again.

I could still feel it.

The love, the forgiveness, the freedom.

It had been so real, more real than anything I had ever experienced in waken life.

I tried to calm myself down.

It was just a dream, I told myself.

Just your mind playing tricks.

You are stressed.

You are confused.

It does not mean anything.

But I could not convince myself.

It was not just a dream.

It was something else, something more.

I sat there on my mat for hours, trying to process what had happened, trying to make sense of it, failing.

When night came and it was time for my shift, I went to work.

I was moving through fog.

Everything felt distant and strange.

The other guards spoke to me, but their words barely registered.

I did my rounds mechanically, check the cells, count the prisoners, walk the corridors.

Repeat.

When I passed the Christian section, I stopped.

I stood outside Rashid’s cell for a long moment.

He was awake, sitting on his mat, reading a small book by the dim light from the corridor.

a Bible.

I realized he looked up and saw me.

His eyes widened slightly.

He stood up and came to the bars.

He stared at me.

Really? Looked at me.

Then his face changed, softened.

His eyes filled with tears.

You saw him, Rashid whispered.

You saw Jesus.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

How could he know? How could he possibly know? I did not answer.

I could not.

I turned and walked away quickly.

But Rashid called after me softly.

He came for you.

He has been calling you all along.

Now he has shown himself to you.

I walked faster.

I went to the guard room and sat down.

My head in my hands.

It was not real.

I told myself it was just a dream.

Stress, guilt, my imagination.

But no matter how many times I said it, I could not believe it.

The rest of that night passed in a blur.

I kept thinking about the dream, about the cell that chains the figure in white, the scars on his hands, the overwhelming love.

I tried to pray my Islamic prayers at the proper times.

I went through the motions, but it felt empty.

The words felt meaningless.

I was just reciting sounds when my shift ended and I went back to my room.

Y I was terrified to go to sleep.

What if I had the dream again? What if I did not have the dream again? I did not know which scared me more.

But exhaustion overtook me.

I fell asleep and the dream came again.

The same cell, the same chains, the same crushing weight of guilt, the same figure entering, kneeling, showing me his scarred hands, freeing me from the chains.

This time he spoke one word, one word that I heard clearly.

Come.

I woke up gasping again, tears streaming down my face again, shaking again.

Two nights in a row, the same dream, the same message.

I spent the whole next day in turmoil.

I could not eat.

I could barely think.

I paced my small room like a caged animal.

What was happening to me? Was I going insane? Was this Shayan deceiving me? Or was it real? I thought about everything I had been taught.

What? about the finality of Islam being the last and truest revelation, about Muhammad being the final prophet, about Jesus being just a messenger, not the son of God is certainly not God himself.

But I also thought about the Christians, about their transformed lives, about their impossible love and forgiveness, about their certainty and peace.

I thought about Rashid saying he had been Muslim for 37 years before meeting Jesus.

He had given up everything, his family, his position, his safety.

Why would anyone do that for a lie? That night, I went to work dreading what was coming.

Not the shift itself, but the possibility of the dream coming a third time.

I tried to stay awake.

I drank tea.

I walked the constantly.

I did not sit down once during my entire shift.

But when I got back to my room in the morning, exhaustion overwhelmed me.

I collapsed on my mat.

The dream came a third time.

Everything the same.

The cell, the chains, the weight, the figure, the scars, the love.

But this time when he freed me from the chains and held out his hand, I saw his face.

I cannot describe it properly.

There are no words for it.

It was a human face, but more than human, perfect, full of strength and gentleness at the same time.

His eyes were looking into me, seeing everything, yet full of love.

This time he spoke more words.

I died for you.

I rose for you.

I am calling you to myself.

Will you come? I fell at his feet in the dream.

Yes, I said.

Yes, I do not understand.

But yes, he reached down and lifted me to my feet.

Then he pulled me into an embrace.

I felt complete acceptance, total love, absolute forgiveness.

Everything I had done, every wrong thing, every hateful thought, every act of violence, all of it washed away in that moment.

When I woke up, I was still weeping.

But this time they were not tears of fear or confusion.

They were tears of something else.

Relief, joy, surrender.

I knew what I had to do.

I waited until that night when I went on duty.

When the facility was quiet and the other guards were asleep or distracted, I went to Rashid’s cell.

He was awake.

He always seemed to be awake when I needed him.

I gripped the bars of his cell.

My hands were shaking.

I kept my voice to a whisper.

Tell me about Jesus.

Tell me everything.

Rashid came to the bars.

There were tears in his eyes.

He had been waiting for this moment.

I realized praying for it.

He spoke quietly but urgently.

He told me about Jesus being the son of God, about him coming to earth as a man, about him living a perfect life, a teaching about God’s love, healing the sick, welcoming sinners.

He told me about Jesus being arrested, beaten, crucified on a Roman cross, dying for the sins of the world, for my sins.

He told me about Jesus rising from the dead three days later, defeating death itself, proving he was who he claims to be.

He told me that anyone who believes in Jesus and accepts his sacrifice will be forgiven and given eternal life.

Not because we deserve it, not because we earn it, but because of God’s grace, his gift.

I listened to every word.

It all made sense now.

The dreams, the scars on Jesus’ hands, the love and forgiveness, everything.

How do I accept this? I whispered.

How do I become his follower? Rashid smiled through his tears.

You pray.

You tell Jesus that you believe in him, that you accept his sacrifice for you, that you want to follow him.

That is all.

It is that simple.

Right here.

Right now.

Right here.

Right now.

I looked around.

The corridor was empty.

I could hear snoring from the guard room.

We were alone.

I knelt down on the concrete floor right there in front of Rashid’s cell.

I did not know the right words.

I had never prayed a Christian prayer before.

So, I just spoke from my heart.

Jesus, I said quietly.

I do not understand everything but I believe you are real.

I believe you came for me.

I believe you died for me.

I believe you rose from death.

I am sorry for everything I have done.

All the hatred, all the violence, all the sin.

I am sorry.

Please forgive me.

Please save me.

I want to follow you.

I give my life to you.

The words were simple, broken, but they came from the deepest part of me.

When I finished, I stayed kneeling there.

I felt something change inside me.

I cannot explain it properly.

It was like a weight lifting, like light entering a dark room, like taking a breath after being underwater too long.

Peace.

Deep peace.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly at peace.

I opened my eyes and looked up at Rashid.

He was smiling, tears running down his face.

“Welcome, brother,” he whispered.

“Welcome to the family of God.

” I stood up slowly.

I felt different.

I was the same person in the same place with the same problems.

But something fundamental had changed.

I was new somehow.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

Rashid thought for a moment.

You need to read the Bible.

You need to understand what you have just accepted.

I can help you.

I can teach you how.

You are locked in that cell.

He smiled slightly.

You have the keys.

I realized he was right.

I was the guard.

I could open his cell when the others were asleep.

We could talk.

He could teach me, but it would be dangerous.

If we were caught, we would both die.

I looked at Rashid.

He had risked everything for his faith.

He was in this prison because he would not deny Jesus.

He had been beaten, tortured, humiliated.

Yet, he had stayed faithful.

Could I do the same? Did I have that kind of courage? I did not know.

But I knew I had to try.

That night, after I was certain the other guards were asleep, I unlocked Rashid’s cell.

He came out quietly.

We went to a storage room at the end of the corridor where we would not be seen.

He had a small Bible.

It was worn, the pages soft from use.

He had hidden it in his cell, somehow keeping it through all the searches.

He opened it and began to teach me.

We had maybe an hour before I would need to lock him back in his cell.

He used the time well.

He showed me verses.

He explained things.

He answered my questions.

And there were so many questions.

Continue reading….
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