Decades of suppressed emotion, of buried pain, of hidden emptiness came flooding out.

And then he spoke, not with audible words that my ears could hear, but directly into my spirit, clearer and more real than any voice I had ever heard in the natural realm.

Baham, I have called you out of darkness into my light.

You have served the kingdom of men.

Now you will serve the kingdom of God.

The words penetrated to the core of my being.

They carried authority, truth, destiny.

He continued, I am going to show you what is coming to Iran.

My you will see what I’m doing, what I’m about to do, what cannot be stopped by any power on earth, and you will carry my message to those in power before the shaking begins.

I fell to my knees, weeping.

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t move.

I could only receive what he was pouring into me.

My whole body trembled.

I felt wave after wave of his presence washing over me, cleansing me, breaking chains I didn’t even know were there, filling empty places I had carried my entire life.

And then he placed his hand on my head.

The moment his hand touched me, everything shifted.

The study disappeared.

The walls, the desk, the books, all of it faded away.

And the vision began.

I was no longer in my study.

I was standing in what seemed like a vast space above Iran, seeing the nation as if from a great height.

I but with a clarity and detail that was impossible by natural means.

I could see cities Thran, Mashad, Isvahan, Shiraz, Tre, K laid out before me like a living map.

But this wasn’t a satellite image or an aerial view.

It was something different.

I was seeing with spiritual eyes, perceiving not just the physical landscape, but the spiritual reality beneath and above it.

The first thing I noticed was the darkness.

Over many parts of Iran, there was a thick oppressive spiritual darkness, like a heavy blanket suppressing the people, keeping them bound in fear and deception.

I could sense the demonic strongholds that had been established over generations.

Principalities that ruled through religious oppression, political tyranny, and generational trauma.

But then I saw something else.

Points of light scattered throughout the nation, but small at first, like candles in the darkness.

But as I watched, they began to grow, to multiply, to spread.

Jesus spoke again.

These are my people in Iran, the ones who have already found me, the underground church.

They have been praying, worshiping, suffering in secret.

And now I’m about to answer their prayers in a way that will shake the entire nation.

As he said this, the points of light began to intensify and expand.

I saw them doubling, tripling, spreading like wildfire across the nation.

What started as hundreds became thousands, then tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands.

I was pulled closer and suddenly I could see details, specific scenes, specific people, specific moments.

I saw a young woman in Tran, a university student, lying in her bed at night.

She had been searching for truth and questioning everything she had been taught.

As she slept, Jesus appeared to her in a dream.

She woke up weeping, surrendering her life to him.

The next day, she found a underground Christian contact and asked to be baptized.

I saw a middle-aged man in Mashad, a shopkeeper who had been a devout Muslim his entire life.

He was praying in his shop when suddenly the presence of Jesus filled the room.

He fell to his knees, encountering a love he had never known.

Within a week, he had led his entire family to Christ.

I saw a group of young people in Isvahan gathering in a basement to worship Jesus.

Their voices rising in Farsy songs of praise.

The room was packed.

50, 60 people, mostly under 30 years old.

Their faces radiant with joy despite the danger.

I saw secret baptisms taking place at night in rivers outside the cities.

On new believers going under the water and coming up with tears of joy streaming down their faces, transformed by the power of the gospel.

I saw Bibles being passed from hand to hand in markets, in universities, and coffee shops.

I saw people reading the New Testament in secret, highlighting passages, weeping as they discovered truth for the first time.

I saw house churches multiplying, small groups meeting in apartments, in basement hidden locations, studying scripture, praying for hours, experiencing the power of the Holy Spirit in miraculous ways.

But then the vision shifted to something even more shocking.

I began to see government officials, men I knew personally, men who had spent their entire lives enforcing Islamic law, encountering Jesus in dreams and visions, just as I had.

I I saw a revolutionary guard commander sitting alone in his office late at night, wrestling with doubts when suddenly Jesus appeared to him.

The man fell to his knees, his hardened heart breaking open, tears flowing as he surrendered to Christ.

I saw a religious cleric who had preached against Christianity for decades secretly reading the Gospel of John in his private study.

As he read, the Holy Spirit illuminated the text, and he finally understood Jesus wasn’t just a prophet.

He was the son of God, the savior of the world.

The cleric fell on his face, repenting, giving his life to Christ.

I saw members of parliament, intelligence officials, military officers, university professors, all encountering Jesus in ways they couldn’t deny, couldn’t dismiss, couldn’t resist.

The vision was so vivid, so detailed that I could see specific faces, hear specific prayers, feel the weight of what was happening.

Jesus spoke again.

This is what I am doing in Iran.

The regime believes it controls the narrative, but I am writing a different story.

What you see is already beginning.

In the coming months, it will accelerate beyond anything the natural mind can comprehend.

The air strikes, the political upheaval, the death of the supreme leader, these are not disruptions to my plan.

They are part of it.

I am shaking everything that can be shaken so that what cannot be shaken will remain.

I am removing the props that people have leaned on so they will finally lean on me.

Then the vision shifted again and I saw something that made my blood run cold.

I saw Ayatollah Ali Kam, the supreme leader of Iran, lying motionless on the ground.

His body was surrounded by debris and smoke rising in the background.

I couldn’t see all the details, but I knew instantly what I was seeing.

His death.

And then I saw a date burning in my mind like a brand.

February 28th.

The numbers appeared before my eyes, glowing with supernatural intensity.

February 28th, the day the Supreme Leader would die.

I saw the chaos that would follow.

Emergency meetings, power struggles, public mourning mixed with private scheming.

I saw the revolutionary guard mobilizing, officials scrambling to control the narrative, the nation teetering on the edge of instability.

And then I saw Moshaba Kame, the supreme leader’s son.

I saw him stepping into power.

I saw his face in detail, his expression grave, his shoulders weighted with the burden of leadership.

I saw him seated in the position his father had held, surrounded by advisers.

I’m making decisions that would affect millions.

But I also saw something else in his face.

Fear.

Deep existential fear.

Not just fear of external enemies or political rivals, but fear of something he couldn’t control.

Something beyond the reach of military might or political maneuvering.

Jesus spoke directly about him.

Mojaba will rise to power, but he will not rule the Iran.

He expects the ground is already shifting beneath him.

What I am doing cannot be stopped by force, by propaganda, by political strategy.

He will try to resist, but the wave is already coming.

Then I receive the instruction that would change everything.

You will warn him.

You will tell Moshtaba what is coming.

He will not receive it with faith, not at first, but he will not be able to deny its truth.

The seed you plant will remain even in the soil of his resistance.

And when what I have shown you begins to unfold, he will remember your words.

I wanted to protest.

I wanted to ask how I could possibly gain access to Mojaba Kame, the son of the supreme leader, one of the most powerful and protected men in Iran.

How could I deliver such a message without being killed? How did any of this make sense? But before I could speak, the vision shifted once more.

I saw myself standing in a room with Mushtaba.

I saw the conversation unfolding word for word.

I saw the look on his face as I described the vision.

The skepticism shifting to shock, the color draining from his face, his hands beginning to tremble.

I saw him ordering my arrest.

I saw guards grabbing me, dragging me away.

And then I saw what would happen after.

I saw myself in a cell, beaten, interrogated, pressured to recant.

I I saw the bruises on my face.

The blood, the exhaustion.

But I also saw something the interrogators couldn’t see.

Angels standing in the corners of that cell, holding back the worst of the darkness, sustaining me through the torment, surrounding me with a peace that defied understanding.

I saw my eventual release, not because I broke, but because the prophecy would be fulfilled and they wouldn’t know what to do with me.

I saw my escape from Iran, a dangerous journey through underground networks across borders with believers risking their lives to help me get to safety.

I saw myself standing in front of a camera just like I am now, sharing this testimony with the world.

And I saw the fruit of it.

thousands then millions hearing the message and turning to Jesus.

I saw the testimony spreading across social media being translated into multiple languages reaching people in nations I had never visited.

I saw the underground church in Iran exploding with growth as believers were emboldened by the testimony.

I saw secret gatherings growing larger, bolder, more confident in the power of God.

I saw Iranian Christians beginning to take the gospel beyond their own borders, going to Afghanistan, to Pakistan, to Central Asia, to the unreached people groups of the Middle East.

I saw them preaching with boldness, performing miracles, planting churches, leading multitudes to Christ.

I saw Iran transformed not through political revolution, not through military intervention, but through the unstoppable, uncontainable supernatural power of the gospel.

The vision was so overwhelming, so saturated with detail and emotion, one that I thought my mind would break under the weight of it.

I was seeing decades of history compressed into moments.

Seeing divine strategy that spanned nations and generations.

And then as suddenly as it began, the vision ended.

I was back in my study on my knees, tears streaming down my face, my body trembling with the weight of what I had just experienced.

Jesus was still there, his presence filling the room.

He spoke one final time and his words were seared into my memory with fire.

Do not fear Baham.

I am with you.

What I have shown you will come to pass.

Trust me and obey.

No weapon formed against you will prosper.

I will guide you through every step.

The message you carry is not yours.

It is mine.

And my word does not return void.

And then gradually his presence began to lift.

The light faded on the weight in the room shifted.

The electric charge in the air dissipated.

I was alone in my study, surrounded by silence, but forever changed.

I sat on the floor of my study for hours, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened.

Every instinct in my rational mind wanted to dismiss it as a hallucination, a dream, a psychological break caused by stress and exhaustion.

But I couldn’t.

It was too real, too detailed, too overwhelming, too saturated with truth and love and power.

I knew beyond any shadow of doubt that I had encountered the living God, that Jesus Christ, the one I had been taught was merely a prophet, was actually the son of God, the savior of the world, the king of kings, and lord of lords.

Everything I had believed was collapsing.

Every framework I had used to understand the world was being dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up.

When the sun began to rise, I finally stood up.

My legs were shaky.

My face was wet with dried tears.

I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself.

My eyes looked different, clearer, more alive, as if something dead inside me had been resurrected.

Ila and the children woke up and went through their morning routine.

I tried to act normal, but I could barely speak.

My mind was spinning, my heart pounding with the weight of what I had experienced and what I now knew I had to do.

I went to work that day in a day as I sat through briefings, analyzed reports, attended meetings.

But it all felt surreal, like I was watching someone else live my life.

The conversations that had once seemed important now felt trivial.

are the power structures that had once impressed me now seemed fragile and temporary.

I kept thinking about the vision, about the millions of Iranians who would encounter Jesus, about the underground church that would explode with growth, about Mojaba Kam and the warning I was commanded to deliver.

That night, after my family went to sleep, I locked myself in my study again.

I pulled out my phone, made sure it was in airplane mode so it couldn’t be tracked, and searched for a digital copy of the Bible.

I downloaded it to my phone and began reading.

I started with the Gospel of John, which I had seen referenced in several of the Christian testimonies I’d watched.

From the very first words, in the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

I felt the truth of it resonating in my spirit.

This wasn’t like reading the Quran, which had always felt distant, harsh, demanding.

This was different.

This was alive.

I read about Jesus being the word made flesh, dwelling among us.

I read about him turning water into wine, healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, raising the dead.

I read about his teachings, radical messages about love, forgiveness, grace, the kingdom of God.

I read about his confrontations with the religious leaders of his day.

The Pharisees who cared more about rules and rituals than about people, who used religion as a tool of control and oppression.

The parallels to Iran’s religious establishment were impossible to miss.

I read about Jesus’s arrest, his trial, his crucifixion.

I read about how he willingly laid down his life as a sacrifice for the sins of the world.

how he took upon himself the punishment that we deserved.

And then I read about his resurrection, how he rose from the dead on the third day, appearing to his disciples, proving that he had conquered death, that he was who he claimed to be, the son of God, the savior, the only way to the father.

I wept as I read.

Every page was confirming what I had experienced in the vision.

This was not a distant prophet.

This was God himself entering into human history, bridging the chasm between humanity and the divine, offering redemption through grace rather than works.

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

During the day, I went to work, performed my duties, interacted with colleagues, all while maintaining the appearance of a loyal servant of the Islamic Republic.

But at night, I devoured the Bible.

I read the Gospels um the book of Acts, the letters of Paul.

I watched more testimonies online.

I listened to sermons preached by underground Iranian pastors.

I learned about the Holy Spirit, about being born again, about salvation by grace through faith.

I learned that I couldn’t earn my way to God through religious performance.

That no amount of prayers or fasting or good works could bridge the gap created by sin.

I learned that Jesus had already done the work, that he had paid the price, that all I had to do was believe, receive, surrender.

But I also felt the weight of the cost.

I knew that if I openly confessed faith in Christ, I would lose everything.

My career would be destroyed.

My family would disown me.

I would be labeled an apostate, a traitor.

Under Iran’s Islamic law, apostasy is punishable by death.

I wrestled with God about this.

Like I prayed for hours, sometimes through the night.

I asked him if there was another way, some path that didn’t require such complete surrender, such total sacrifice.

I thought about my children.

What would happen to them if I was arrested? What would happen to Ila? Could I really subject them to the consequences of my decision? But every time I prayed, every time I tried to negotiate, I heard the same quiet, firm answer in my spirit.

Trust me, obey.

I will take care of what you surrendered to me.

I also felt a growing conviction that I couldn’t keep living a lie.

That every day I spent pretending to be something I wasn’t.

I was denying the truth I now knew.

that my silence was a form of betrayal of Christ, of myself, of the destiny I had been shown.

The breaking point came in early March.

I was alone in my study, reading the words of Jesus in Matthew 10.

Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my father in heaven.

But whoever disowns me before others, I will disown before my father in heaven.

The words pierced me like a sword.

I couldn’t escape them.

I couldn’t rationalize them away.

I closed my eyes and saw again the vision of Jesus standing before me, the overwhelming love in his eyes, the authority in his voice, the commission he had given me.

And I made the decision.

I knelt beside my bed in the darkness and in a whisper, I prayed the prayer that sealed my eternal destiny.

Jesus, I believe you are the son of God.

I believe you died for my sins and rose from the dead.

I confess that I am a sinner in need of a savior.

I renounce Islam.

I renounce every lie I have believed.

I renounce every false god, every idol, every allegiance that has kept me from you.

I surrender my life to you completely.

I am yours no matter the cost.

Forgive me.

Fill me with your Holy Spirit.

Make me a new creation.

I trust you with everything.

My life, my family, my future.

I am yours, Lord.

Lead me.

Use me.

I will obey.

The moment I spoke those words, something happened that I can only describe as supernatural.

I felt a tangible weight lift off my shoulders like chains falling away.

I felt a flood of peace wash over me, so profound and complete that it defied all logic.

I felt joy bubbling up from a place deep inside that I didn’t even know existed.

I felt clean, forgiven, free.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt truly alive.

I stayed on my knees for a long time weeping, worshiping, thanking God for saving me, for calling me, for giving me a purpose beyond anything I could have imagined.

And I knew what I had to do next.

I had to fulfill the commission.

I had to warn Moaba Kam.

I had to deliver the message Jesus had given me no matter what it cost.

Gaining access to Mojaba Kame was not as difficult as you might think.

I had spent nearly two decades building credibility within Iran’s intelligence and political networks.

I had connections with officials who had direct access to the Supreme Leader’s inner circle.

Continue reading….
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