Saudi Prince’s Last Request Before The Execution Was To See The Virgin Mary, But Then JESUS CHANGED

My name is Saleem.

I was 32 years old when everything changed on September 8th, 2017.

I was born into the Saudi royal family, destined for power and wealth beyond imagination.

But on that September morning, I made a decision that would lead me to death row.

This is how Jesus Christ saved my life in the most impossible way.

I grew up in palaces that most people only say in movies.

Golden door knobs, marble floors that stretched for miles, and servants who anticipated my every need before I even knew I had it.

My childhood was surrounded by the finest silks, the most exquisite foods, and teachers who taught me that I was blessed by Allah above all others.

Every morning at dawn, I would hear the call to prayer echoing through the palace walls.

And I would dutifully roll out my prayer rug alongside my brothers facing Mecca, reciting the words I had memorized since I could barely speak.

The Islamic protocols were not suggestions in our household.

They were absolute law.

Five prayers a day, no exceptions.

Ramadan fasting observed with military precision.

Quran verses memorized until they flowed from my tongue like water.

My father the king made it clear that as princes of the house of Sud, we were guardians of Islam itself.

Any deviation from the faith was not just personal failure but betrayal of our bloodline and our people.

I accepted this without question because questioning was never presented as an option.

But even in those early years, something felt hollow inside me.

During our family prayers, I would watch my father’s face, searching for the peace and joy that our religious teachers promised would come from submission to Allah.

Instead, I saw duty obligation.

sometimes even fear.

When I was 12 years old, I witnessed my first public execution in the kingdom square.

A man accused of apostasy was beheaded while crowds cheered.

That night, I asked my father why Allah required such violence, if he was merciful.

His response was swift and sharp.

Do not question Allah’s justice, my son.

Some questions are dangerous.

That warning planted a seed of doubt that I tried desperately to ignore.

Throughout my teenage years, I threw myself deeper into Islamic study, hoping that knowledge would fill the emptiness I felt during prayer.

I memorized entire chapters of the Quran.

I studied Islamic law with the most respected scholars in the kingdom.

I even made the pilgrimage to Mecca twice.

before my 20th birthday.

Yet, the harder I tried to connect with Allah, the more distant he seemed to become.

Ask yourself this question.

Have you ever felt trapped by the very beliefs that were supposed to set you free? That was my existence for 25 years.

I was living in a golden cage, surrounded by luxury but spiritually starving.

The Islamic face that was supposed to bring me closer to God felt like a wall between us instead.

Everything began to change in 2015 when I was sent to London for royal investment meetings.

This was my first real exposure to the Western world beyond carefully controlled diplomatic visits.

Walking through the streets of London, I was struck by something I had never seen before in my own country.

People seemed genuinely at peace.

Not the forced peace that comes from obedience to strict religious law, but something deeper, something that radiated from within.

During one of my business meetings, I encountered a British businessman named Richard who managed our family’s European investments.

What struck me about Richard was not his financial expertise, but his demeanor.

He had a calmness about him that I envied.

When our meetings ran long, he never showed impatience.

When difficult negotiations arose, he remained gracious.

Most remarkably, he never seemed stressed despite handling millions of dollars in transactions.

One evening, after a particularly complex deal was finalized, I found myself asking Richard what kept him so peaceful.

His response changed the trajectory of my life forever.

He said, “Your highness, I have a relationship with Jesus Christ that gives me peace that surpasses all understanding.

” He did not try to convert me or preach to me.

He simply shared his truth with such genuine love that I felt something stir in my chest that I had never experienced before.

That night in my London hotel, I could not sleep.

Ricard’s words echoed in my mind.

A relationship with Jesus Christ.

In Saudi Arabia, Jesus was acknowledged as a prophet, but certainly not someone you could have a personal relationship with.

The idea was foreign, almost blasphemous by the standards I was raised with.

Yet something about the way Richard spoke of Gizas carried an authority that I could not dismiss.

Returning to Saudi Arabia, I found myself carrying questions that I had never dared to ask before.

During our family prayer times, I began to wonder if there might be another way to connect with the divine.

I started paying closer attention to the Christians.

I occasionally encountered during diplomatic functions, studying their faces during conversations, searching for clues about this mysterious peace that Richard possessed.

The internal warfare in my soul was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I felt guilty for even entertaining thoughts about another faith.

Yet I felt equally guilty for ignoring the growing hunger in my heart for something more real than the ritualistic Islam I had known my entire life.

I began having dreams where I felt an inexplicable presence calling to me, though I could never quite make out the voice or the message.

For months, I lived with this tension, performing my royal duties while wrestling with questions that threatened everything I thought I knew about God, faith, and my purpose in life.

The golden cage that had once felt secure now felt suffocating.

The religious certainties that had once provided structure now felt like chains.

Something was shifting deep within my soul, and I knew there would be no going back to the spiritual emptiness I had accepted for so long.

The hunger in my soul became impossible to ignore.

Back in my private quarters, I began what could only be described as the most dangerous investigation of my life.

Using secure internet connections that I knew were monitored, but hoping my royal status would provide some protection.

I started researching Christianity with the desperation of a drowning man searching for air.

Late at night, when the palace was quiet and even the servants had retired, I would lock my chamber doors and dive into websites about Jesus Christ.

What I discovered shattered every preconception I had been taught about Christianity.

This was not the corrupted religion of weak western infidels that my Islamic teachers had described.

Instead, I found stories of a god who loved humanity so much that he became human himself to save us.

The concept was revolutionary to everything I believed.

In Islam, Allah was distant, demanding submission through fear and ritual.

But Jesus seemed to invite relationship through love and sacrifice.

I read the sermon on the mount with tears streaming down my face.

Amazed by teachings that spoke of blessing the poor, loving your enemies, and turning the other cheek.

These were not the words of a mere prophet, but of someone claiming to be God himself.

Through careful inquiries during my diplomatic duties, I managed to obtain a Bible.

The Christian businessman who sold it to me thought he was simply providing religious literature to an intellectually curious prince.

He had no idea he was handing me dynamite that would explode my entire world view.

I hid that Bible like others might hide weapons or drugs, knowing that discovery would mean not just personal disgrace, but potentially my life.

Reading the Bible became my secret obsession.

Every free moment was spent studying the gospels, comparing what Jesus said about himself with what Muhammad claimed about his own mission.

The differences were staggering.

While Muhammad presented himself as the final messenger, Jesus claimed to be the message itself.

While Islamic paradise was described in terms of earthly pleasures, Jesus spoke of eternal relationship with the father.

While Islamic salvation depended on good works outweighing bad deeds, Jesus offered grace as a free gift.

The more I read, the more I felt the Holy Spirit working in my heart, though I did not yet understand what was happening to me.

During Islamic prayers, I found myself thinking about Isuz’s words.

When I recited Quranic verses about Allah’s judgment, I remembered Jesus’s promise that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.

The contrast was becoming unbearable.

One night in August 2017, I was reading John chapter 14 when I encountered verse 6.

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

No one comes to the Father except through me.

” Those words hit me like lightning.

Gazes was not claiming to be one path among many to God.

He was claiming to be the only path.

The exclusivity of his claim demanded a response.

Either Jesus was telling the truth and was indeed God incarnate, or he was the greatest deceiver in human history.

I fell to my knees in my private chamber, overwhelmed by the weight of this decision.

My royal upbringing had taught me that truth was whatever preserved family honor and political power.

But Gizas’s words cut through every diplomatic calculation and demanded pure honesty.

In that moment of desperate vulnerability, I cried out, “Jesus, if you are real, if you are truly the son of God, reveal yourself to me.

I need to know the truth, even if it cost me everything.

What happened next came my eternal destiny.

” As I knelt there on the marble floor of my palace chamber, a peace descended on me that I had never experienced in 32 years of Islamic prayer and ritual.

It was not the peace of resignation or duty, but the peace of coming home after a lifetime of wandering.

I felt the presence of Jesus Christ in that room as tangibly as if he had walked through the wall and sat beside me.

That night, Christ appeared to me in a vision more real than any dream I had ever experienced.

He was radiant but approachable, powerful but gentle.

His eyes held a love that penetrated every defense I had ever built around my heart.

When he spoke, his voice carried the authority of creation itself.

Yet it was tender as a father speaking to his beloved child.

“Come to me, my son,” he said, “and I will give you rest.

The burden you have carried is not from my father.

I have come to set you free.

” I woke up transformed.

The spiritual emptiness that had plagued me for decades was gone, replaced by a joy and certainty that defied explanation.

I knew beyond any shadow of doubt that Jesus Christ was Lord, that he had died for my sins and that through him I had eternal life.

The intellectual journey was complete.

But now came the far more dangerous step of acting on this new found faith.

Through careful networking within diplomatic circles, I discovered that there was a small underground Christian community in Saudi Arabia.

These were not foreign missionaries or obvious converts, but Saudi nationals who had secretly come to faith in Christ and met in hidden locations for worship and fellowship.

Making contact with them required months of careful investigation and coded communications that could cost us all our lives if discovered.

The night of September 8th, 2017, I was baptized in a hidden location outside Riyad under a canopy of stars.

As I was lowered into the water, I felt the weight of my royal identity and Islamic heritage being washed away.

When I emerged, I was no longer just Prince Salem of the House of Sud.

I was a child of God, born again through faith in Jesus Christ.

The small group of believers surrounding me, wept with joy as they welcomed me into the family of God.

But even in that moment of pure celebration, we all knew what this decision meant.

I was now living a double life that could not continue indefinitely.

Discovery would mean not just death for me, but persecution for everyone who had helped me find Christ.

The cost of following Jesus was becoming crystal clear.

Yet turning back was no longer an option.

For almost 2 years, I lived the most dangerous double life imaginable.

By day, I performed my royal duties with the same precision I had always maintained.

I attended state functions, conducted diplomatic meetings, and participated in Islamic ceremonies with a poker face that would have impressed the world’s best spies.

But in the quiet moments between public appearances, my heart was completely devoted to Jesus Christ.

The Christian community that had welcomed me became my lifeline.

We developed elaborate systems for secret communication using business meetings as cover for Bible studies and diplomatic travel as opportunities for fellowship with believers in other countries.

I memorized entire chapters of the New Testament so I could meditate on God’s word even when I could not access my hidden Bible.

During Islamic prayers, I would silently pray to Jesus while going through the motions of Islamic worship.

The internal tension was exhausting.

Every morning I woke up knowing that this could be the day my secret was discovered.

Every conversation with family members felt like walking through a minefield, careful not to let any hint of my transformed world view slip into my words.

I found myself studying my brothers and father with new eyes, loving them desperately while grieving that they remained trapped in the spiritual darkness I had escaped.

In March 2019, after nearly two years of this precarious existence, my carefully constructed world came crashing down in the most mundane way possible.

Ahmad, a servant who had worked in our family for over 15 years, was cleaning my private study when he accidentally knocked over a stack of diplomatic papers.

As he bent to collect them, my hidden Bible fell out from where I had concealed it between official documents.

The look on Ahmad’s face was one I will never forget.

shock, confusion, and then dawning horror as he realized what he was holding.

For a moment, we stared at each other across my chamber, both understanding that this moment would change everything.

I could see the internal struggle in his eyes.

This was a man who had served our family faithfully, who had genuine affection for me personally, but who also knew his religious duty according to Islamic law.

“Your highness,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“What is this?” “I could have lied.

I could have claimed it was for academic research or diplomatic understanding.

But looking into Ahmad’s frightened face, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to speak truth.

Ahmmed, this is the word of God.

Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.

The Bible fell from his hands as if it had burned him.

Without another word, he backed out of my chamber.

and I knew with absolute certainty that within hours my secret would be in the hands of the palace religious authorities.

I fell to my knees and prayed for strength for what was coming.

Knowing that my life as I had known it was over.

The sound of boots marching through the palace corridors reached my ears just after midnight.

heavy purposeful steps that grew louder as they approached my quarters.

When they kicked open my chamber doors, I was kneeling in prayer, asking Jesus to give me courage to face whatever lay ahead with dignity.

The royal guards who had once bowed respectfully in my presence now roughly seized my arms and dragged me from my room in chains.

Being led through the palace hallways in shackles past servants and family members who averted their eyes in shame and horror was a humiliation unlike anything I could have imagined.

The marble floors that I had walked across as a prince now echoed with the sound of my chains as I was dragged toward the throne room where my father the king waited with my brothers and uncle.

My father’s face when I was thrown before his throne will haunt me forever.

I had seen him angry before.

I had seen him disappointed.

But I had never seen him look at me with the mixture of pain and rage that filled his eyes that night.

This was not just a father confronting a rebellious son.

This was a king dealing with treason, a guardian of Islam facing apostasy in his own bloodline.

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice barely controlled.

Have you betrayed Allah and embraced the religion of our enemies? My brothers surrounded me, some in obvious shock, others with faces twisted in fury.

My youngest brother, who had always looked up to me, was weeping openly.

Uncle the prince stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but his disappointment palpable.

The weight of their collective stare felt heavier than the chains around my wrists.

Father, I said, my voice steady despite my trembling hands.

I have found the truth in Jesus Christ.

He is the way, the truth, and the life.

The explosion of rage that followed my words was terrifying.

My oldest brother lunged toward me, screaming about family honor and religious duty.

Uncle had to physically restrain him while father sat in stunned silence, processing the magnitude of my confession.

For several minutes, chaos ringed in the throne room as family members shouted accusations and threats while I knelt in canes, praying silently for peace.

When order was finally restored, father stood from his throne and approached me slowly.

His next words cut deeper than any physical blow could have.

You are no longer my son.

You have chosen to worship a false god and align yourself with the enemies of Islam.

I give you three days to renounce this madness and return to the face of your fathers.

If you refuse, you will face execution for apostasy and treason against the kingdom.

Look inside your own heart right now and ask yourself if you have ever faced a moment where everything you held dear was stripped away because of your convictions.

That night as I was dragged to the palace dungan, I lost my family, my identity, my future, and my freedom all in one devastating blow.

Yet even as the cell door slammed shut behind me, I felt Jesus’s presence sustaining me with a peace that truly surpassed all understanding.

The three days that followed were filled with visits from Islamic scholars, family members, and religious authorities.

All trying to convince me to recant my faith.

They offered me everything.

Restoration to full royal status, increased wealths and power, even the promise that my conversion could be kept secret if I would just publicly renounce Christ.

But I could not deny the one who had saved my soul, even if it cost me my earthly life.

When the three days of attempted recon conversion ended with my continued refusal to renounce Christ, I was transferred from the palace dungeon to the state prison where enemies of the kingdom awaited their final government.

The trial that followed was a mere formality.

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