[snorts] Void, empty, zero.

I don’t understand it, the officer said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

It was hot in the station, but not that hot.

He was rattled.

I called the main headquarters.

I checked the international database.

I even checked the archive of active warrants.

You are not there.

He looked me in the eye, searching for a lie.

According to this system, you have never been arrested.

You have never been charged.

You have never been to court.

You have never set foot in a prison.

You do not have a criminal record.

You are dot dot dot a ghost or an angel.

But you are not a criminal.

I stared at the screen.

Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled [snorts] over running down my cheeks.

It wasn’t just that I had escaped.

It wasn’t just that I was free.

It was that God had erased the record of my condemnation.

Just as the blood of Jesus washes away our sins and makes us white as snow, so that when the father looks at us, he sees no spot or blemish, so too had God, reached into the servers of the legal system, and wiped away the record of my judgment.

Colossians 2:14 flashed through my mind.

He canceled the record of the charges against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross.

The officer shook his head.

He started typing again, but this time he was filling out a new form.

A form for asylum registration.

Since you have no record, he said, his voice softer now.

Almost respectful, you are eligible for immediate temporary status.

I can process your papers today.

You can work.

You can live.

You are free.

He stamped a document.

The sound of the stamp hitting the paper was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

Better than music, better than laughter.

It was the sound of redemption.

He slid the paper across the desk to me.

Go, he said.

And whoever your god is, tell him, I said.

He is very good at it security.

I walked out of that police station into the midday sun.

I held the paper against my chest.

I fell to my knees right there on the sidewalk.

People walked around me staring, but I didn’t care.

I lifted my hands to the sky and I wept.

I wept for the fear that was gone.

I wept for the miracle of the empty screen.

I wept because I realized that God is not just the God of the spiritual realm.

He is the God of the physical realm.

He is the God of iron gates and computer servers.

He is the god of laws and governments.

There is no system so complex, no prison so secure, no record so permanent that he cannot override it with his grace.

And I want to pause here for a moment and speak to you.

Yes, you watching this video.

Maybe you have a record.

Maybe not a criminal record in a police station, but a record of mistakes, a record of regrets, a record of sins that haunts you.

Maybe you feel that your past is written in stone, that everyone knows what you did, that you can never truly be free from the shame of it.

You feel like a fugitive running from your own history.

I am here to tell you that if God can wipe a police database clean, he can wipe your conscience clean.

He can take the scarlet stains of your past and make them white as wool.

He does unjust open the door to let you out.

He destroys the evidence that you were ever locked up.

He restores you.

completely.

If you want to know more about this kind of total restoration, if you want to be part of a community that believes in new beginnings, please subscribe to our channel.

We are building a family here of people who believe that no past is too dark for God light to penetrate.

Click that button not just to watch a video, but to join a movement of hope.

I settled into my new life.

I found work as a seamstress.

I learned the language.

I made friends.

The nightmares of the prison cell began to fade, replaced by the peace of a life lived in freedom.

But as the months turned into years, I found myself spending long evenings sitting by my window looking at the stars and asking God deep questions.

Why? It is the question we are all afraid to ask.

But it is the question that haunts every sufferer.

Why did you allow it, Lord? If you could open the door on the last day, why didn’t you open it on the first day? If you could blind the eyes of the gods, why did you blind the eyes of the neighbor who betrayed me? Why did I have to lose my shop, my home, and 3 years of my life? Why did I have to endure the beatings, the cold, the hunger, and the humiliation? For a long time, I wrestled with this.

I thought perhaps I had lacked faith.

I thought perhaps there was sin in my life that needed to be purged.

But the more I prayed, the more God revealed a different truth to me.

A truth that is hard to swallow, but is as sweet as honey when you digest it.

The prison was not my punishment.

It was my seminary.

[snorts] It was my training ground.

You see, in my comfortable life as a shopkeeper, I knew about God.

I knew him as a concept.

I knew him as a savior who gives peace, but I did not know him as a sustainer.

I did not know him as a defender.

I did not know him as the fourth man in the fire.

You cannot know God as the provider until you are completely destitute.

You cannot know God as the healer until you are beyond medical help.

You cannot know God as the deliverer until you are locked in a cage with no key.

God allowed the prison because he wanted to deposit something in me that could not be carried in a vessel of comfort.

He wanted to give me a testimony that would shake the nations.

He wanted to show me that his power is made perfect in weakness.

I thought about the spice seller who betrayed me for a long time.

I hated him.

I wished suffering upon him.

I imagined him losing his sharp just as I had lost mine.

But one night as I was reading the words of Jesus, asterisk, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

” asterisk I felt the Holy Spirit convicting me.

My freedom was incomplete as long as I held on to bitterness.

The gods could unkeep me in prison, but unforgiveness could build a cell in my heart that no miracle could open.

I had to turn the key myself.

I began to pray for him.

At first, it was through gritted teeth.

asterisk, “Lord, bless him.

” It tasted like ash in my mouth.

But I kept praying day after day.

Lord, show him your truth.

Lord, forgive him.

For he did not know what he was doing.

And slowly the hatred melted.

It was replaced by a profound pity.

I realized that I was the free one even when I was in chains because I had the truth.

He was the prisoner even though he walked the streets because he was bound by fear and deception.

I realized that his betrayal was just a tool in God’s hand to push me into my destiny.

As Joseph said to his brothers, “Asterisk, you intended to harm me, but God intended it for good, to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.

” asterisk suffering is not a sign of God’s absence.

It is often a sign of his trust.

He trusted me with that trial because he knew what he was building inside me.

He was refining my faith like gold in a furnace.

Gold cannot be pure unless it passes through the fire, the impurities, the pride, the self-reliance, the fear of man.

All of that was burned away in that cell, leaving only the pure gold of trust in him.

And I look at the world today.

I see so many of you going through your own prisons.

Maybe it is a prison of a failing marriage, a prison of debt, a prison of chronic illness, a prison of depression.

You feel like you are serving a life sentence.

You look at the calendar and you see no parole dates.

You cry out to God and you hear only silence.

I want to tell you this, the silence is not abandonment.

The silence is the deep breath before the miracle.

God is working in the dark.

Just because you cannot see the door opening doesn’t mean the lock isn’t turning.

Just because you cannot see the way out doesn’t mean the gods aren’t being blinded.

Your story is not over.

The chapter you are in right now is called the test.

But the next chapter is called the testimony.

And you cannot have one without the other.

There is a purpose in your pain.

There is a reason for your struggle.

God is not wasting your tears.

He is collecting them in a bottle.

He is using this season to deepen your roots so that when the harvest comes, you will be able to bear the weight of the fruit.

Do not give up.

Do not stop praying.

Do not stop believing.

The same God who walked into a Moroccan prison cell and escorted me out past armed guards is the same God who is walking with you in your bedroom right now.

He knows your name.

[snorts] He knows your address and he holds the keys to every door in your life.

Hold on.

The morning is coming and when it comes it will be brighter than you can imagine.

We have come to the end of my story, but we have arrived at the beginning of yours.

You see, I do not believe in accidents.

I do not believe that the algorithm just happened to suggest this video to you today.

There are billions of videos on the internet, billions of distractions.

But you are here.

You have listened to the story of the prison, the escape, and the erased files.

You are still watching.

Why? [snorts] I believe it is because your spirit recognizes the sound of freedom.

I believe you are watching this because you have your own prison.

Perhaps it is not made of concrete and steel bars.

Perhaps your prison is a marriage that feels dead and cold.

Perhaps it is a financial debt that is crushing the life out of you.

A mountain that seems impossible to climb.

Perhaps it is a sickness in your body that the doctors have named chronic or incurable.

Or perhaps it is the prison of your own mind anxiety.

Depression, the voices that tell you that you are worthless, that you have messed up too many times, that there is no hope for you.

You look at my story and you think that is amazing for her.

She is special.

God loves her.

But I need you to hear me clearly.

I am not special.

I am just a woman who dared to believe that God is bigger than the facts.

The fact side.

God said open door.

The fact fugitive.

God said free citizen.

The same God who walked through the walls of that Moroccan prison is standing next to you right now.

He is not limited by time or space.

He is not limited by the screen you are watching this on.

And he wants to do a work in your life right now.

Not tomorrow, not next week.

Right now, I want to invite you to do something with me.

[snorts] This is the most important part of this entire video.

If you are in a safe place, I want to ask you to close your eyes.

If you are driving, just keep listening.

But open your heart.

I want you to take your hand, your right hand, and place it over your heart.

Can you feel it beating? That heartbeat is a gift.

It is a reminder that God is not done with you yet.

As long as that heart is beating, there is hope.

We are going to pray, but this is not going to be a religious prayer where we just recite words.

This is going to be an act of spiritual warfare.

We are going to speak to the mountains in your life.

We are going to speak to the prison doors.

Take a deep breath.

Inhale slowly.

Hold it.

Now exhale.

Let go of the tension in your shoulders.

Let go of the stress of the day.

Forget about the notifications on your phone.

Forget about the tido list.

For the next few minutes, it is just you and the creator of the universe.

Father, in the name of Jesus, I come to you on behalf of the person listening to my voice right now.

Lord, you know their name.

You know their story.

You know the tears they have cried into their pillow when no one was watching.

You know the secret pain they carry behind their smile.

Lord, just as you saw me in that cold damn cell, you see them right now.

Lord, I pray first for the breaking of chains.

Whatever is holding this person bound, whether it is an addiction that they cannot shake, a fear that paralyzes them, or a bitterness that poisons their soul, I command those chains to break right now in the name of Jesus.

We know that where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.

So let your freedom flood into their room right now.

Walk past the guards of their logic.

walk past the guards of their doubt.

Step right into the center of their situation.

I speak to the prison doors in their life, the doors of opportunity that have been shut tight, the doors of healing that seem locked.

I command those doors to open, not by might nor by power, but by your spirit.

I pray that they would hear the sound of the tumblers clicking.

Click.

Click, click.

I pray that they would feel the fresh wind of your Holy Spirit blowing into their stagnant situation.

And Lord, I pray for the miracle of the null file.

There is someone listening right now who is tormented by their past.

They feel dirty.

They feel guilty.

They feel that they have sinned too much to be used by you.

The accuser reminds them every day of their failures.

But Lord, we stand on the authority of your word.

We stand on the blood of Jesus.

I ask you right now to access the databith of their history.

Access the record of their sins and wipe it clean.

Let them feel the weight of that eraser.

Let them know that when you forgive, you forget.

There is no backup file.

There is no hidden record.

They are free.

[snorts] They are new.

They are washed.

I pray for physical healing.

If there is pain in their body, I commanded to leave.

If there is sickness in their cells, I speak the life of God into their marrow.

From the top of their head to the soles of their feet.

Be healed.

Be whole.

Be restored.

Just as the fever left the girl in my soul, let the sickness leave this body now.

Lord, replace their fear with a peace that surpasses all understanding.

A peace that makes no sense.

A peace that allows them to sleep in the storm.

A peace that allows them to walk past their enemies with their head held high.

Wrap your arms around them.

Let them feel your tangible presence.

Let them know that they are not orphans.

They are sons and daughters of the king.

I seal this prayer in the mighty name of Jesus.

The name that is above every name.

The name that opens prisons and shuts the mouths of lions.

[snorts] Amen.

Keep your eyes closed for just a moment longer.

Sit in this silence.

Do not rush away.

Do you feel that? That lightness in your chest.

That is the burden lifting.

That is the atmosphere shifting.

You are not the same person you were 10 minutes ago.

Something has broken in the spiritual realm and it will manifest in the physical realm.

I want you to hold on to this feeling and I want to ask you to do something to seal this moment.

If you felt something shift while we were praying, if you believe that God is working on your file right now, I want you to type a simple declaration in the comments below.

Type these words.

asterisk asterisk I am free.

Asterisk asterisk do not just think it, type it.

There is power in confession.

When you type it, you are staking a claim.

You are telling the enemy that he no longer has a hold on you.

You are testifying to the world that you believe in the God of the open door.

Scroll down right now and type I am free.

Let the comments section be a wall of testimony.

A monument to the freedom that God is releasing today.

And if this story has touched you, if you feel a connection to this community we are building, I want to invite you to join us.

Click that subscribe button.

Not because we want numbers, but because we want a family.

We are building a global congregation of believers who refuse to bow to fear, who refuse to accept the world as limitations and who believe in a God who still does miracles.

When you subscribe, you are saying, “I want more of this light.

I want to be reminded of God’s power.

We share these stories, not to entertain you, but to arm you, to give you the weapons you need to fight your own battles.

So join us.

Turn on the notification bell so that the next time you are feeling low, the next time the prison walls feel like they are closing in, you will get a reminder that God is still on the throne.

I do not know what tomorrow holds for you.

I do not know what battles you will face, but I know this.

You do not face them alone.

The god of Amina is the god of your name.

The God of the empty cell is the God of the empty tomb.

And the God who erased my criminal record has written your name in the Lamb s book of life.

Go in peace.

Walk in freedom and never forget.

When the world says impossible, God says, “Watch me.

My name is Amina and I am free.

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Pay attention to the woman in the white pharmacist coat walking through the staff entrance of Hammad Medical Corporation at 10:55 p.

m.

Her name is Haraya Ezekiel.

She is 29 years old.

A licensed pharmacist from Cebu, Philippines, newlywed, married 11 months ago in a ceremony her mother still talks about.

Her husband Marco dropped her off at the metro station 3 hours ago.

He kissed her on the cheek.

She didn’t look back.

Now watch the man entering through the side corridor at 11:10 p.

m.

Dr.

Khaled Mansor, senior cardiotheric surgeon, 44 years old.

They do not acknowledge each other in the corridor.

They don’t need to.

They’ve done this before.

Three blocks away, a white Toyota Camry idols beneath a broken street lamp.

Inside it, Marco Ezekiel has been watching the staff entrance for 15 minutes.

He is an engineer.

He is systematic.

He is recording everything in his mind the way a man records things when he already knows the answer, but cannot yet say it out loud.

His phone last pings a cell tower at 11:47 p.

m.

300 m from the hospital’s east parking structure.

He is never seen again.

Not that night.

Not the following morning.

not for the 38 hours it takes his wife to report him missing after finishing her shift after taking the metro home after showering after sleeping after eating breakfast.

This is not a story about infidelity.

It is a story about what happened after someone decided that a husband who knew too much was a problem that required a solution and about the single maintenance worker who saw something in a parking structure at 12:15 a.

m.

and said nothing for 14 days and what those 14 days cost.

Pay attention to the woman in the white pharmacist coat walking through the staff entrance of Hammad Medical Corporation at 10:55 p.

m.

Her name is Haraya Ezekiel.

She is 29 years old, a licensed pharmacist from Cebu, Philippines, newlywed, married 11 months ago in a ceremony her mother still talks about.

Her husband Marco dropped her off at the metro station 3 hours ago.

He kissed her on the cheek.

She didn’t look back.

Now watch the man entering through the side corridor at 11:10 p.

m.

Dr.

Khaled Mansor, senior cardiotheric surgeon, 44 years old.

They do not acknowledge each other in the corridor.

They don’t need to.

They’ve done this before.

Three blocks away, a white Toyota Camry idles beneath a broken street lamp.

Inside it, Marco Ezekiel has been watching the staff in trance for 15 minutes.

He is an engineer.

He is systematic.

Continue reading….
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