Within minutes, I could hear her on the phone, her voice muffled, but urgent, making calls, probably to her brother, probably to her parents, explaining the situation, asking for help.

Then I heard her moving through the house, opening closets, pulling out suitcases, packing bags, awaking the children, and telling them to get ready.

We’re leaving now.

Within two hours, she had taken all three of our children and left.

My son, Amir, 19 years old, came to say goodbye.

He looked at me with an expression I had never seen from him before, a mixture of disappointment, disgust, and something close to hatred.

“You have brought shame on this family,” he said coldly.

“Shame that will follow us for the rest of our lives.

I hope one day you come back to Allah and ask forgiveness for what you’ve done.

But until that day, I have no father.

My younger son, Hassan, 16, said nothing at all.

He just stared at me with confusion and hurt in his eyes, unable to process what was happening.

My daughter, Ila, 14, started to cry.

She ran to me despite her mother calling her away and hugged me tightly, careful of my injuries.

Baba, please don’t do this.

Please come back to us.

Uh, please say you didn’t mean any of it.

I held her and whispered, my heart breaking.

I love you so much, my precious girl.

I will always love you, but I have to follow the truth no matter where it leads me.

Then they were gone.

The door closed.

I heard the car start and drive away.

And the house was empty and silent.

That was 5 days ago.

I have not seen or heard from my family since that night.

My wife blocked my phone number.

My sons refused to respond to any of my messages and my daughter sent me one text message the next morning.

Baba, please come back to Allah before it’s too late.

I’m praying for you.

But I can’t go back to Allah because I was never truly with Allah.

I was deceived as billions of others have been deceived into following a false religion that leads away from the true God.

For 2 days after my family left, I stayed alone in that empty house.

I didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to move forward.

The silence was overwhelming.

Every room reminded me of what I had lost.

I knew I couldn’t go back to the IRGC.

I knew I couldn’t continue living as a Muslim, participating in prayers and rituals that I now knew were based on deception.

But I didn’t know what it meant to be a Christian in Iran.

I didn’t know where Christians gathered or how to find them.

I didn’t know how to take the next step.

On March 5th, I did something I never thought I would do.

uh something that would have been absolutely unthinkable just two weeks earlier.

I went looking for an underground church.

The irony was not lost on me.

I had spent years of my career hunting Christians, tracking down house churches, interrogating pastors, shutting down secret worship services, breaking up clandestine Bible studies, arresting people for the crime of following Jesus.

I knew the tactics they used, the way they communicated through subtle signals, the codes they used in public spaces, and the signs they left for each other to indicate safe meeting places.

And now I was using that knowledge to find them myself.

The hunter had become the hunted.

The persecutor was now seeking the persecuted.

It took me most of the day walking carefully on my injured leg, following subtle clues I had learned to recognize during my years in intelligence work, making discreet inquiries in places where I suspected Christians might work or shop.

Eventually, late in the afternoon, I found a contact, a man who worked in a print shop near the Grand Bazaar.

I had noticed certain patterns in his behavior, certain subtle indicators that suggested he might have connections to the underground church.

I approached him carefully, told him I was seeking truth, that I had questions about Jesus Christ, that I needed to speak with someone who could help me understand.

He was understandably suspicious, terrified, actually.

After all, I looked like exactly what I was, a military officer, or even in civilian clothes.

My posture, my bearing, the way I carried myself.

Everything about me screamed I RGC.

This could easily be a trap, a sting operation.

He could be arrested just for talking to me.

But I was desperate.

I needed help.

I needed guidance.

I needed to find other followers of Jesus.

So I said something I had learned Christians used to identify each other, a phrase I had heard during interrogations.

I am looking for the way.

His eyes widened in shock and fear.

I he studied me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of deception.

Then with trembling hands, he wrote an address on a small piece of paper and pressed it into my hand.

Tonight, 10 p.

m.

, come alone.

If you bring anyone with you, if this is a trap, you will have the blood of innocent people on your hands.

It’s not a trap.

I promise you.

I met Jesus.

I need help.

He said nothing more.

Just turned and walked away quickly.

That evening after dark, I I took a taxi to the address he had given me.

It was a modest apartment building in a workingclass neighborhood in South Terron.

Nothing remarkable about it.

Nothing that would draw attention.

I climbed slowly to the third floor, my injured leg protesting with each step.

Found the specified apartment number.

Knocked quietly on the door.

A young man opened it.

He was perhaps 25 years old.

When he saw me, his face went pale with fear.

He started to close the door.

“Please,” I said quickly.

“I’m here to learn about Jesus.

I met him.

I need help”.

He hesitated, clearly terrified, but also curious.

Then he stepped aside to let me enter.

The apartment was small and simple.

Perhaps 15 people were gathered there, men and women, young and old.

All of them looked at me with a mixture of fear and suspicion.

Several people stood up, ready to flee if necessary.

An older man stood up from where he had been sitting.

He was perhaps 60 years old, uh, with gray hair and kind but cautious eyes.

Later, I would learn his name was Pastor Vahed.

He had been imprisoned for three years for his faith.

Tortured in Evan prison, the very prison I had been familiar with in my career.

Released only a year ago, his body bearing scars from the torture he had endured.

He should have been afraid of me.

He should have seen me as a threat.

He should have ordered me out immediately.

but instead he walked toward me slowly and extended his hand.

Welcome, brother.

Oh, what is your name? Raza.

My name is Raza Akmadi.

I heard gasps around the room.

Several people recognized my name immediately.

One woman stood up and backed toward the door, ready to run.

A young man pulled out his phone, probably to warn others.

Pastor Vahed held up his hand.

Wait, let him speak.

If Jesus brought him here, we should hear what he has to say.

So I told them my story.

Everything.

The explosion, the death, meeting Jesus in that place between life and death.

All the warning I had been given about Islam, about Iran, about the coming judgment, my family leaving me, my desperate search for the truth.

When I finished, there was absolute silence in the room.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

They just stared at me, trying to process what they had heard.

Then Pastor Vahed said something that broke me completely.

Shattered the last walls I had been holding up.

Brother Raza, Jesus brought you here.

You are home now.

You are finally home.

And I wept uh for the first time since the explosion.

For the first time since losing my family, I truly wept.

Not from pain, not from loss, not from fear, but from relief and joy and overwhelming gratitude.

Because for the first time in my entire life, I was not pretending.

I was not performing.

I was not hiding behind religious rituals or military authority or social expectations.

I was just a broken man who had met Jesus and been forever changed.

Pastor Vahed embraced me.

Then the others in the room one by one overcame their fear and came and embraced me as well.

Even the woman who had been ready to run came and hugged me, tears streaming down her face.

My brother was killed by the IRGC three years ago for his faith,” she said, her voice breaking.

“I have hated soldiers like you for so long.

I have prayed for God to judge you and punish you.

But if Jesus can save you, if he can change your heart, then he can heal my hate as well.

I forgive you, brother”.

That night, e pastor vahed asked me if I wanted to be baptized, to publicly declare my faith in Jesus Christ, to be washed clean of my old life and born into a new one.

I said yes without any hesitation.

They didn’t have a baptismal pool.

They didn’t have a church building.

They didn’t have any of the things I had imagined Christian baptism would include.

All they had was a bathtub in that small apartment.

But it was enough.

More than enough.

A pastor veheed filled the tub with water while the others gathered around.

And there in that tiny bathroom in that secret apartment surrounded by believers who had risked everything to follow Jesus, he baptized me in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

When I came up out of that water, I was a new creation, a new man.

Not Brigadier General Raza Amadi of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps.

Not a decorated officer of the Islamic Republic.

Not a Muslim who had served Allah for 47 years.

Just Raza, a follower of Jesus Christ, a brother in the faith.

Home at last.

The next morning, March 6th, Pastor Vahed came to the safe house where I was staying, a different apartment owned by one of the believers.

His face was grave and serious.

Brother Raza, I need to tell you something important.

The IRGC knows about your conversion.

Your wife reported you to the authorities yesterday afternoon.

Uh, they have issued an arrest warrant for you.

What are the charges? Apostasy and treason both carry the death penalty under Islamic law, especially during a time of national crisis like this.

They consider your rejection of Islam while serving as a highranking military officer to be one of the worst possible crimes.

I had known this was coming.

Jesus had warned me explicitly, but hearing it stated so plainly still sent a chill through me.

Uh, how much time do I have before they find me? Maybe 24 hours, maybe less.

They’re actively searching for you now.

Every IRGC officer in Tyrron has your photo and description.

There’s a substantial reward being offered for information leading to your capture.

It’s only a matter of time.

I nodded slowly.

Then I need to record my testimony before they find me.

I need to tell the world what Jesus showed me.

That’s why I came.

We have video equipment.

We have a way to record it safely and get it out of Iran through our network of contacts.

Even if they capture you, even if they kill you, your testimony will survive, your story will reach people.

So that’s what I did.

Yesterday on March 6th, 2026, I sat in front of a camera in a secret location and began recording this testimony.

The testimony you’re hearing right now.

And now, as I near the end of this recording, I want to speak directly to different groups of people who may be watching or listening to this.

First, to Muslims, especially to Muslims in Iran, but also to Muslims everywhere in the world.

I know what you’re thinking right now.

You think I’m a traitor, an apostate, a tool of Western propaganda meant to undermine Islam.

You think I’m lying about meeting Jesus or that I was brainwashed or that I’m being paid to say these things by enemies of Islam.

I I understand those thoughts completely.

I would have had exactly the same thoughts if I had heard this testimony a month ago before the explosion.

I would have dismissed it immediately as lies and propaganda.

But I’m telling you the absolute truth.

I’m not being paid by anyone.

I’m not brainwashed.

I have nothing to gain from this testimony and everything to lose.

I have lost my family, my career, my honor, my safety, everything.

I met Jesus Christ.

I stood in his presence.

I I saw the truth about Islam with my own eyes.

And I’m telling you this out of love, not hatred.

Out of desperate concern for your eternal soul, not out of any desire to attack or insult you.

Islam is not from God.

Muhammad did not receive revelation from the angel Gabriel.

The Quran is not the word of the true God.

These are painful truths to hear.

I know because they were painful for me to accept.

They shattered my entire worldview.

But they are truths nonetheless, uncomfortable truths.

A difficult truths, but truths that you must face.

Jesus Christ is the son of God.

He died on the cross for your sins.

He rose from the dead on the third day.

He is alive right now.

And he is the only way to salvation.

Not one of many ways, not a way, the only way, the exclusive way, the singular path to eternal life.

Your good deeds cannot save you.

Your prayers cannot save you.

Your fasting and pilgrimages cannot save you.

Your sincerity cannot save you.

Only Jesus can save you.

Uh only his sacrifice on the cross can pay for your sins.

I’m begging you with everything in me.

Seek him while there is still time.

Pray to Jesus, not to Allah.

Ask him to reveal himself to you.

Tell him you want to know the truth.

Whatever it costs you, whatever you have to give up, whatever price you have to pay, he will answer.

I promise you, he will answer.

Because he loves you more than you can possibly imagine.

He loves you enough to die for you.

She He loves you enough to give you another chance right now at this very moment.

But time is running out.

The judgment I saw coming to Iran is real.

It’s not a metaphor or a spiritual analogy.

It’s literal physical devastating judgment.

And it’s coming soon, sooner than anyone realizes.

When it comes, it will be too late to repent.

the door of mercy will close.

Please, I’m begging you.

Don’t wait until then.

Don’t wait until you’re standing before Jesus in judgment like the supreme leader.

I’d with no more chances to change your mind.

Choose now.

Choose today.

Choose Jesus.

To Christians watching this, particularly Christians in Iran who are risking everything to follow Jesus, you are not alone.

There are more of us than the government wants people to know.

We meet in secret.

We worship in hiding.

We carry our faith in our hearts because we cannot display it publicly.

But we are here.

We are growing.

We are alive.

Jesus sees you and he knows your sacrifice.

He honors your faithfulness.

He will reward you for everything you’ve suffered in his name.

Keep meeting together despite the danger.

Keep encouraging each other despite the fear.

Keep sharing the gospel despite the consequences.

Keep following Jesus no matter what it cost you.

The time of persecution is not over.

In fact, it may intensify significantly before the end.

But remember what Jesus said.

In this world, you will have trouble.

But take heart.

I I have overcome the world.

Our suffering is temporary.

Our reward is eternal.

Our pain is momentary.

Our glory will last forever.

And to pastors and leaders of the underground church, use my testimony.

Share it.

Let it encourage new believers and challenge those who are still seeking.

Let it reach those who need to hear it, even if it puts you at greater risk.

To my family, if you ever see this, Zara, my wife, I love you.

I have loved you since the day we met at that university gathering 24 years ago.

I wish I could make you understand what I experienced.

I wish I could show you what I saw.

I wish I could take you by the hand and show you Jesus the way he showed himself to me.

I’m not doing this to hurt you.

I’m not trying to destroy our family.

I’m not choosing religion over you.

I’m simply following the truth I encountered.

The most real truth I’ve ever known.

And I pray every day that Jesus will reveal himself to you the way he revealed himself to me.

That you will have your own encounter with him.

And when that day comes, if that day comes, I’ll be waiting for you in eternity.

Amir, Hassan, Leila, my precious children whom I love more than my own life.

You think I’ve abandoned you.

You think I’ve chosen religion over family.

You think I’ve gone crazy or been brainwashed.

But that’s not true.

That’s not what happened.

I’ve chosen truth over lies.

Real truth over comfortable lies.

And I’ve made that choice because I love you.

Because I want you to know the real God.

Because I want to see you in heaven, not separated from God forever.

Right now, you’re young.

Right now, you believe what you’ve been taught in school and in the mosque.

Right now, you trust the religious leaders and the imams who teach you.

But one day, you’ll have questions.

One day, you’ll wonder if what you’ve been told is actually true.

One day I something will happen that makes you question everything.

When that day comes, remember your father.

Remember this testimony.

Remember that I didn’t reject you.

I love you more than ever.

I just found something more true, more real, more important than anything else.

And when that day comes, seek Jesus for yourself.

Ask him to show you the truth.

He will answer.

I will love you forever no matter what you choose.

But I pray with everything in me that you’ll choose truth.

I that you’ll choose Jesus that I’ll see you again someday in his presence.

To my former brothers in the IRGC, I know you have orders to kill me.

I know you think I’m a traitor who deserves death.

I know you’re searching for me right now.

I understand your position.

I would have felt the same way not long ago.

But I want you to know I don’t hate you.

I don’t condemn you.

I understand you perfectly.

I was you.

I thought like you.

I believed like you.

For 28 years, I served beside you.

I fought with you.

I bled with you.

I believed in the same cause you believe in now.

I was committed to the same mission.

I was willing to die for the same ideals.

But I was wrong, and you’re wrong, too.

We’ve dedicated our lives to defending a system built on a false foundation.

We’ve persecuted innocent people for following Jesus.

We’ve shed innocent blood in the name of a God who doesn’t exist.

I’m begging you, don’t die for a lie.

Don’t give your life for a cause that will be judged by the true God.

Don’t spend eternity separated from God because you refused to question what you were taught.

Jesus loves you even after everything.

Even after all the Christians you’ve arrested and tortured and killed, even now.

And he’s calling you to come home just like he called me home.

When you find me, and I know you will eventually, probably very soon, you’ll have a choice to make.

You can follow your orders and kill me.

Execute me as a traitor and apostate.

Or you can listen to what I have to say and consider that maybe, just maybe, I’m telling you the truth.

I hope you’ll choose to listen.

I hope you’ll ask questions.

I hope you’ll seek Jesus for yourself.

But if you don’t, if you kill me, I forgive you.

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