That night was the first of many.

For the next several weeks, I lived a double life.

During the day, I was the Taliban guard.

At night during my shifts, I was a secret follower of Jesus.

Learning from a prisoner who had become my teacher.

It was the most dangerous thing I had ever done, but it was also the most important.

My life had been broken open.

I had encountered something real, something powerful, something worth dying for.

I had met Jesus and nothing would ever be the same.

The double life I was living should have torn me apart.

Maybe it did in some ways, but it also gave me something I had never had before.

Purpose.

Real purpose.

Every night during my shift, when the other guards were asleep, I would unlock Rashid’s cell.

We would go to the storage room.

He would teach me from his worn Bible.

I absorbed everything like a man dying of thirst drinks water.

We had to be extremely careful.

If anyone discovered what we were doing, we would both be executed.

Rashid would die as an apostate who corrupted a Muslim.

I I would die as a traitor and convert.

There would be no mercy.

But Rashid showed no fear.

He taught me with patience and joy as if we had all the time in the world.

Instead of stolen hours in a storage room, the first thing he taught me was the gospel.

The core message.

He took me through the book of John explaining verse by verse.

Jesus was God who became man.

Jesus lived a perfect life to show us how to live.

Jesus died as a sacrifice for our sins.

Jesus rose from death to give us new life.

Everyone who believes in him is saved.

It was so different from everything I had been taught.

In Islam, salvation came through good works, through following the rules, through submission.

You hoped Allah would accept you, but you could never be certain.

You did your best and hoped it was enough.

But Christianity was different.

Salvation was a gift, free, unearned.

You could not work for it or deserve it.

You simply received it by faith.

And once you received it, it was certain.

You were saved, forgiven, made new.

This idea was hard for me to accept at first.

It seemed too easy, too good to be true.

Surely there had to be more to it.

But Rashid kept showing me verses.

He explained that the work had already been done by Jesus.

Our part was simply to believe, to trust, to accept the gift.

Then we lived in gratitude for what we had been given, not trying to earn something we already had.

Slowly I began to understand.

And with understanding came overwhelming gratitude.

Jesus had done for me what I could never do for myself.

He had paid a price I could never pay.

He had given me a gift I could never earn.

Why? Why would God do this? Rashid smiled when I asked this question.

Because he loves you.

That is the only reason.

He loves you.

It was so simple yet so profound.

God loves me.

Not because of anything I had done.

Not because I deserved it.

Just because that is who God is.

love.

The second thing Rashid taught me was how to pray.

Real prayer, not just reciting memorized words.

Talk to Jesus like he is right here with you.

Rashid said, “Because he is.

Tell him everything, your fears, your joys, your struggles, your questions.

He wants to hear it all.

” This was strange to me.

I was used to formal prayers at set times with specific words.

But Rashid prayed like he was talking to a friend, a close friend who knew him completely and loved him.

Anyway, I started trying to pray this way, awkward at first.

I would stumble over words, not sure what to say, but gradually it became more natural.

I would talk to Jesus throughout the day.

Short prayers, help me, thank you, I am scared, I am grateful, guide me.

And I felt him there.

Not in a loud way, not with voices or visions, just a quiet presence, a sense of not being alone anymore.

The third thing Rashid taught me was forgiveness.

This was the hardest lesson.

You must forgive those who have hurt you.

He said one night, not because they deserve it, but because you have been forgiven.

Jesus forgave you for everything.

You must forgive others.

I thought about the Americans who killed my brothers, the commanders who sent me to war as a teenager, the guards who had corrupted me with their cruelty, all the people who had shaped me into the person I had become.

How could I forgive them? Some of them deserve to be punished, not forgiven.

Rashid nodded when I said this.

Yes, they deserve a punishment.

So do you.

So do I.

We all deserve punishment for our sins.

But Jesus took that punishment for us.

He forgave us.

Now we must forgive others.

Not because they deserve it, but because we have been shown mercy and we must show mercy.

It took me time to work through this.

Weeks of wrestling with it.

But gradually I began to let go of the hatred I had carried for so long.

The bitterness, the desire for revenge, it did not happen all at once.

It was a slow process, but it happened.

And as I forgave, I felt lighter, freer.

The weight of all that hatred had been crushing me for years, and I had not even realized it.

Letting it go was like removing chains I did not know I was wearing.

During this time, I also watched the other Christian prisoners more closely.

Now that I was one of them, I saw their behavior in a new light.

They were not just prisoners.

They were my brothers and sisters family.

I could not reveal my conversion to them.

It was too dangerous.

If they knew and let something slip, we would all be in danger.

So I had to stay silent, keep pretending to be their guard.

It was painful, but sometimes I would find small ways to help them.

Extra water when the other guards were not looking.

An extra blanket looking the other way when they prayed at unauthorized times.

Small mercies.

Mariam noticed.

One night she caught my eye as I passed her cell.

She smiled at me.

annoying smile.

She did not say anything.

She did not need to.

Somehow she understood.

David noticed too.

His beatings had stopped because I was no longer participating and I made excuses to keep him out of interrogations when I could.

He would nod at me sometimes.

A small gesture of acknowledgement.

They knew something had changed in me.

They prayed for me.

I could hear them sometimes whispering prayers for the guards.

For me specifically, their prayers were being answered.

I was proof.

Living this double life was exhausting.

During the day, I had to act like the person I used to be.

Hard, strict, obedient to the Taliban commanders.

I had to hide any softness or sympathy.

At night during my shifts, I could be my real self, learning, growing, becoming who Jesus was making me to be.

The tension was constant.

The fear of discovery never went away.

Every time Hhabib looked at me too long, I wondered if he suspected something.

Every time another guard made a comment about me being too soft on prisoners, I worried that my secret was slipping out.

I knew this could not last forever.

Eventually, something would break.

I would be discovered or I would have to make a choice that revealed where my true loyalty lay.

That moment came sooner than I expected.

It was about 6 weeks after my conversion.

I was on night duty as usual.

Around midnight, Hhabib came to the facility.

This was unusual.

Commanders rarely came during night shifts unless there was an emergency.

He found me in the corridor doing my rounds.

His face was hard.

We are moving the Christian prisoners tomorrow.

He said they are being transferred to Kabul for trial.

The sentences have already been decided.

Execution for all of them.

My blood ran cold.

Execution all of them.

Rashid, Mariam, David, Elias, Parisa, everyone.

When I managed to ask tomorrow afternoon, they will be transported by truck.

You will help prepare them for transport.

He walked away.

I stood there in shock.

They were going to kill my teacher, my brother, the man who had led me to Jesus, and all the others, the people who had shown me what real faith looked like.

I felt a rage building inside me, then despair, then confusion.

What could I do? I was one person.

I had no power.

I could not stop this.

I went to the storage room and sat down, my head in my hands.

I wanted to pray but words would not come.

I just sat there in silence feeling helpless.

After a while I heard a soft noise.

I looked it up.

Rashid was standing in the doorway.

I had forgotten to lock his cell.

In my shock I had left it open.

He came and sat next to me.

He did not say anything at first.

He just sat there in the darkness with me.

Finally, I spoke.

They are going to kill you tomorrow.

All of you.

I know.

Rashid said quietly.

We have been expecting it.

You are not afraid.

He was quiet for a moment.

I am afraid of the pain.

He admitted.

I do not want to suffer, but I am not afraid of death.

Death is just a doorway.

On the other side is Jesus.

I will finally see him face to face.

His calm acceptance amazed me.

How could anyone face their own death with such peace? What about me? I asked.

My voice broke.

What am I supposed to do? You have been teaching me.

I need you.

I do not know enough yet.

I am not strong enough.

Rashid put his hand on my shoulder.

You know enough, brother.

You know Jesus.

You know he loves you.

You know he died for you and rose again.

You know he has given you new life.

That is enough.

The Holy Spirit will teach you the rest.

But I will be alone.

There are no other Christians here.

No church, no fellowship.

Rashid shook his head.

You are never alone.

Jesus is with you always.

He promised this.

And there are Christians everywhere.

Even in Afghanistan.

You will find them.

They will find you.

God will provide.

I started crying.

I could not help it.

I did not want to lose him.

He had become more than a teacher.

He was the only person in the world who knew the real me, the new me.

He let me cry.

Then he spoke again, his voice gentle.

You have a choice to make wasim.

You can stay here.

Keep hiding.

Keep living this double life.

Maybe you survive.

Maybe you do not.

or you can leave.

Flee, find other believers.

Live openly as a follower of Jesus.

I looked at him.

Lee? How? Where would I go? I do not know, he said.

But I know that you cannot stay here much longer.

Eventually, you will be discovered.

Or you will be forced to do something that violates your conscience.

You need to get out.

But my family, my life, everything I know is here.

He nodded.

Yes, following Jesus costs everything.

I know I lost my family, my career, my freedom, everything.

But I gained something worth far more.

I gained Jesus.

You will, too.

We sat in silence for a while.

I knew he was right.

I could feel it.

My time here was ending.

I had to make a choice.

But what about you? I asked.

What about the others? Maybe I can help you escape tonight.

I have keys.

We could.

No, Rashid interrupted firmly.

That would put you in immediate danger.

And even if we escaped, where would we go? They would hunt us.

They would catch us.

And they would kill you for helping us.

So I just let you die.

His voice was gentle.

I am ready to die was I have made my peace with this.

I have run my race.

I have kept the faith.

The crown of righteousness awaits me.

I am content.

But what about David and Mariam? They are younger.

They have more life to live.

Rashid smiled sadly.

They are ready too.

We have all known this day was coming.

We have been preparing for it.

We have prayed about it.

We are at peace.

He stood up.

You should lock me back in my cell before someone notices.

But first, I want to pray for you.

He placed both hands on my head.

Right there in that storage room, he prayed over me.

He asked God to protect me, to guide me, to give me strength and courage, to lead me to other believers, to use my story to bring others to Jesus.

When he finished, we looked at each other.

We both knew this was goodbye.

Thank you, I said, for everything, for teaching me, for showing me Jesus.

He hugged me, a tight embrace.

No.

Then he pulled back and looked me in the eyes.

Remember this, he said.

God brought you to this place for a reason.

He put you in this prison surrounded by Christians so you could see the truth, so you could meet Jesus.

Your past was not wasted.

God was working in it all along, leading you to this moment.

And he will continue to work in your future.

Trust him.

I nodded, unable to speak.

I walked him back to his cell and locked the door.

He gripped the bars and looked at me one last time.

Live boldly for Jesus, brother.

Tell your story.

Let people know what God did for you.

Do not waste this gift you have been given.

Then he lay down on his mat and closed his eyes.

At peace, I walked away, my heart breaking.

The rest of that night, I wrestled with what to do.

Could I really leave? Abandon everything, become a fugitive, risk death? But what was the alternative? Stay and watch them be executed, continue living a lie, eventually be discovered and killed anyway.

As dawn approached, I made my decision.

I would help them one last time.

Then I would leave.

I would flee Afghanistan.

I would find other Christians.

I would live openly for Jesus no matter the cost.

During my final rounds before my shift ended, I went to each of the Christian prisoners cells.

They were all awake, praying quietly, preparing for what was coming.

I stopped at each cell.

I could not speak to them directly.

The risk was too great.

But I did something else.

I left each cell door unlocked, not opened, just unlocked.

A simple turn of the key that looked normal if anyone was watching, but left the mechanism disengaged.

It was not much.

Maybe it would give them a chance.

Maybe not.

But it was all I could do.

When I got to Rashid’s cell last, he was sitting up watching me.

He saw what I was doing.

He nodded slowly, understanding.

I nodded back.

Then I walked away.

I went to the guard room and finished my shift to report.

I gathered my few personal belongings.

Then I walked out of the prison facility for the last time.

I did not go home.

I could not.

My family would turn me in if they knew what I had done.

Instead, I walked to the edge of the city as dawn broke.

I had a little money saved, enough for a bus ticket to the border.

I knew I would never see my family again, never see my home, never return to the life I had known.

I was giving up everything.

But I was gaining something far greater.

Freedom, truth, Jesus.

As the sun rose over Hat, I boarded a bus heading east toward Pakistan.

I was a fugitive now, a traitor to the Taliban, an apostate from Islam, a wanted man, but I was also a follower of Jesus, a child of God, a new creation.

The old wasim was dead.

A new Wasim had been born.

And whatever happened next, I knew Jesus would be with me.

He had not brought me this far to abandon me now.

My journey was just beginning.

The bus ride to Pakistan took two days.

I sat in the back, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact.

Every time we stopped at a checkpoint, my heart would pound.

I was certain the Taliban had already discovered my betrayal.

Certain they were looking for me.

They certain this would be the checkpoint where they pulled me off the bus and arrested me.

But each time the guards waved us through without incident.

God was protecting me.

I could feel it.

I spent those two days praying.

Not formal prayers.

Just a constant conversation with Jesus.

Thank you for getting me through that checkpoint.

Please help me at the next one.

I am scared.

I trust you.

Guide me.

Protect me.

Simple prayers.

Desperate prayers.

honest prayers.

I also thought about what I had left behind.

My father would be devastated when he learned I had converted to Christianity.

Or maybe not devastated, maybe just furious.

He would declare me dead.

In his mind, I would no longer exist.

My mother would cry.

She would grieve for me as if I had died.

In a way, I had the son she knew was gone.

My surviving brothers would hunt me if they could, not just because of family honor, but because they truly believed I had committed the worst possible sin.

They would see killing me as a righteous act.

I would never see any of them again, never share a meal with them, never hear my mother’s voice, never pray in the mosque where my father preached.

All of that was finished.

The weight of this loss was crushing at times.

I had to keep reminding myself why I made this choice.

Jesus Jesus was worth it.

He had to be worth it because I had given up everything for him.

When we finally crossed into Pakistan, I felt a small measure of relief.

At least here the Taliban did not control everything.

But I was still in danger.

They had networks in Pakistan.

They could find me if they looked hard enough.

I got off the bus in Queta, a city near the border.

I had no plan, no contacts, no idea where to go.

I just started walking.

I ended up in a refugee area on the outskirts of the city.

Thousands of Afghans lived there.

People who had fled the Taliban for various reasons.

I found a cheap room in a crumbling building and paid for a week with the little money I had left.

Then I did not know what to do.

I sat in that small room staring at the walls.

For the first time since I fled, I had time to think, time to process, and doubt crept in.

What had I done? I had abandoned my family, my country, my entire life.

For what? A dream, a feeling, a few weeks of secret Bible study with a prisoner.

What if I was wrong? What if I had made a terrible mistake? I fell to my knees in that room and cried.

Deep, painful sobs.

I felt lost, alone, completely a drift.

Jesus, I prayed.

If you are real, I need you to show me.

I need to know I did not throw my life away for nothing.

Please help me.

I stayed on my knees for a long time.

Eventually the tears stopped.

I felt empty, exhausted.

Then I remembered something Rashid had told me.

There are Christians everywhere.

God will provide Christians.

I needed to find Christians, other believers who could help me.

But how? I could not just walk around asking people if they were Christians.

That would be dangerous.

I decided to go out and walk the streets.

Maybe God would guide me somehow.

It seemed foolish, but I had nothing else.

I wandered through the refugee camp for hours.

I watched people, listened to conversations, looked for any sign that might indicate Christians.

As evening approached, I was ready to give up.

Then I passed a small building that looked like it might have been a shop once.

The door was closed, but I heard singing coming from inside.

Quiet singing in Dari.

I stopped and listened.

The melody was familiar.

It was one of the hymns Rashid used to sing in his cell.

My heart started pounding.

Could it be? I knocked on the door.

The singing stopped immediately.

There was silence.

Then a voice called out in dar.

Who is there? My name is Wasim.

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