Iran is going to see the greatest move of God in its history.

The room erupted in quiet celebration.

People were crying, hugging each other, praising God in whispers.

But Pastor Resza continued, raising his hand for silence.

We must be wise.

Zara is in great danger.

Her family will not rest until they find her.

They will see your conversion as the ultimate betrayal.

They will want to make an example of her.

What should we do?

Someone asked.

We protect her, Pastor Resza said simply.

She is our sister now, and we don’t abandon family.

But pastor, a young man said, they have resources we can’t match.

They’ll search everywhere.

How can we possibly keep her hidden?

Pastor Raza smiled.

The same way the early church protected believers under Roman persecution.

The same way Chinese Christians protect each other from the Communist Party.

The same way believers have always protected each other throughout history.

We move her frequently.

We keep the circles small.

We trust God to blind the eyes of those who hunt her.

He turned to me.

Zara, are you willing to live this way?

Always moving, always in hiding, never able to contact your family again.

Yes, I said without hesitation.

I’ve made my choice.

There’s no going back.

Good.

Pastor Resza said, “Then here’s what we’ll do.

Tonight, you’ll stay in one of our safe houses.

Tomorrow, we’ll move you to another location.

We’ll get you new identification, a new name, a new identity, and we’ll begin preparing you for something important”.

“What”?

I asked.

“To be a witness,” Pastor Raza said.

“Jesus called you to tell the world your story.

Eventually, when the time is right, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

But first, you need to learn.

You need to grow in your faith.

You need to understand what you believe and why.

So, we’ll teach you.

We’ll disciple you.

We’ll prepare you.

How long will that take?

As long as it takes, Pastor Raza said, “This isn’t a race.

This is a marathon.

God is in control of the timing.

Our job is to be faithful and obedient”.

The meeting continued for another hour.

They prayed over me again.

They shared communion, and I took it for the first time.

The bread and the wine, the body and blood of Jesus.

a physical reminder of his sacrifice for me.

When the meeting ended, one of the young men who had brought me approached.

“I’m David,” he said.

“I’ll be your primary contact.

If you need anything, you come to me.

I’ll coordinate your movements and make sure you’re safe”.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” David said with a slight smile.

“You’re about to learn how hard the underground Christian life can be.

No comforts, no stability, constant vigilance.

It’s not what you’re used to.

Nothing about my life is what I’m used to anymore, I said.

But I wouldn’t change it.

For the first time, I’m free.

David nodded.

That’s the right attitude.

Come on, let’s get you to tonight’s safe house.

They blindfolded me again and led me back through the maze of corridors.

We drove to a different part of the city.

When they finally let me remove the blindfold, I was in a small apartment similar to Hassan’s.

A middle-aged couple greeted me warmly.

This is brother Medie and sister Sara, David said.

You’ll stay with them tonight.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll come for you and we’ll move to the next location.

Why all the moving?

I asked.

Security protocol, David explained.

You never stay in one place more than a day or two.

That way, if someone gets arrested or compromised, they can only give up one location.

They can’t bring down the whole network.

It made sense, but it also made my future feel even more uncertain.

I would be a perpetual nomad, never settling, never stable.

But that was the cost of following Jesus.

And I had already decided it was worth it.

David left and Brother Medie showed me to a small room with a mattress on the floor.

It’s not much, he said apologetically.

It’s perfect, I said.

And I meant it.

After the luxury I’d grown up with, this simple room felt more honest, more real.

Sister Sarah brought me some food.

As we ate together, they told me their story.

They had both been Muslims, but Jesus had appeared to brother Medie in a dream 5 years ago.

He had become a Christian and eventually led his wife to faith as well.

They had been part of the underground church ever since.

It’s been hard, Sister Sarah admitted.

We’ve lost friends, family members who discovered our faith have disowned us.

We’ve had to move three times when our location was compromised.

But we’ve never regretted it because Jesus is worth it all.

That’s what I keep telling myself, I said.

But I’m scared of what’s coming, of what they’ll do to me if they find me.

Brother Mie reached across the table and took my hand.

Perfect love casts out fear, he said, quoting scripture I didn’t know yet.

The more you know Jesus, the less power fear will have over you.

You’re at the beginning of your journey, Zara.

Right now, everything feels overwhelming, but I promise you, as you grow in faith, you’ll find strength you didn’t know you had.

That night, lying on the mattress in the dark, I thought about everything that had happened.

Just 4 days ago, I had been Zara, granddaughter of the Supreme Leader, living in luxury and power.

Now, I was a fugitive, sleeping on a floor with no idea what tomorrow would bring.

But I had something I’d never had before.

I had truth.

I had freedom.

I had Jesus.

And that was worth more than all the wealth and power in the world.

One week had passed since my escape.

I had stayed in seven different safe houses, moving every night or two, never settling, always on edge.

The underground Christian network was more extensive than I’d imagined.

Dozens of families spread across Tehran and surrounding areas, all working together to hide believers from the regime.

David came to my latest safe house early one morning with urgent news.

His face was grim.

It’s all over the news, he said, pulling out his phone.

Your family went public.

He showed me the screen.

My photograph filled it.

But not just any photograph.

They had chosen one from two years ago when I had won a national poetry competition.

I looked young, innocent, proud.

The caption read, “National tragedy, Supreme Leader’s granddaughter kidnapped”.

My stomach dropped.

kidnapped.

That’s the story they’re telling.

David said they’re claiming you were abducted by foreign agents, possibly CIA or Mossad.

They’ve launched a massive manhunt.

Checkpoints everywhere.

House-to-house searches in some neighborhoods.

Rewards being offered for information.

How much?

I asked.

$5 million.

I sat down heavily.

$5 million.

That was more money than most Iranians would see in 10 lifetimes.

People would betray their own families for that kind of reward.

We need to move you out of Tehran.

David said, “The net is tightening.

It’s only a matter of time before someone sees you and makes the connection.

Where would I go?

We have contacts in other cities.

Shiraz maybe or Isvahan, somewhere smaller where the search won’t be as intense.

But you said there are checkpoints everywhere.

How will we get through”?

David smiled slightly.

We have our ways.

The underground church has been evading the regime for decades.

We know all their blind spots.

That night, they smuggled me out of Tehran in the back of a delivery truck.

I was hidden under bags of rice, breathing through a small air hole they’d created.

The journey took 6 hours.

We went through three checkpoints, and each time my heart nearly stopped.

But the driver had the right papers, the right bribes, the right words.

They waved us through every time.

We arrived in Shiraz just before dawn.

It was a beautiful city famous for its poetry and gardens and ancient Persian heritage.

Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed being here, but I was too scared to appreciate the beauty.

They took me to another safe house, this one on the outskirts of the city.

An older couple, Brother Cave and Sister Nazarene, welcomed me.

They had been Christians for 20 years and had helped dozens of believers escape persecution.

You’ll be safe here for a while, Brother Cabba said.

But eventually, we may need to move you again.

They won’t give up searching.

I spent the next 3 weeks in Shiraz, moving between different safe houses, always careful, always watching.

During this time, Pastor Raza arranged for me to receive intensive disciplehip.

Different believers came to teach me about the Bible, about Christian theology, about what it meant to follow Jesus.

I was a hungry student.

Every day I read scripture for hours.

Every night I prayed.

I was discovering a whole world I’d never known existed.

The gospels amazed me.

The story of Jesus’s life, his teachings, his miracles, his death and resurrection.

It was all so different from what I’d been taught.

In Islam, Jesus was just a prophet, a good man, but nothing more.

His crucifixion was denied.

His divinity was rejected.

But reading the Gospels, I saw the truth.

Jesus was God in human flesh.

He had come to save humanity from sin.

He had died willingly as a sacrifice.

And he had risen from the dead, conquering death itself.

The more I learned, the more I understood why my family feared Christianity so much.

Because if Jesus was who he claimed to be, then everything Islam taught was wrong.

Everything the Islamic Republic was built on was a lie.

No wonder they persecuted Christians so viciously.

Christians threatened the very foundation of their power.

During my fourth week in Shiraz, something happened that changed everything.

I was reading the book of Acts when Sister Nazarin burst into the room, her face pale.

Turn on the television, she said.

Quickly, I turned it on to the state news channel.

My grandfather’s face filled the screen.

He was giving a speech, his voice harsh and angry.

My beloved granddaughter was not kidnapped.

He was saying she was deceived, brainwashed by Christian missionaries who infiltrated our family’s trust.

She has been led astray by lies and propaganda.

But I know my granddaughter’s heart.

She is a good Muslim.

She would never willingly betray her faith.

The camera cut to my mother.

She was crying, holding a recent photograph of me.

“Zara, if you’re watching this, please come home,” she said through her tears.

“We’re not angry.

We know you were tricked.

Just come home and everything will be forgiven.

Well get you the help you need to recover from this psychological attack.

Please, my daughter, come home.

It was a clever strategy.

By claiming I was brainwashed, they avoided admitting that someone from their family had genuinely converted to Christianity.

It preserved the family’s reputation while still appealing to me to return.

And by having my mother make the emotional plea, they hoped to tug at my heartstrings.

But I saw through it.

I knew what help meant.

Deprogramming, re-education, possibly imprisonment in a psychiatric facility.

They would do whatever it took to break me, to force me to recant, to make me a public example of what happened to apostates.

They’re getting desperate.

Sister Nazarin said, “This kind of public appeal means their private search hasn’t found you.

That’s good.

It means our security is holding, but it also meant the pressure was intensifying.

Every Iranian in the country now knew my face.

Every police officer, every revolutionary guard, every government informant was looking for me.

And $5 million was a powerful motivator.

That night, I had another encounter with Jesus.

I was praying in my room when I felt his presence.

Not as dramatic as the first time, but unmistakable.

That same peace, that same certainty that he was near.

I’m scared.

I prayed out loud.

They’re hunting me.

Eventually, they’ll find me.

What do I do?

And in my spirit, I heard his voice, not audible, but clear as anything.

Trust me, I have not brought you this far to abandon you.

I have a plan, and my plan is bigger than their plans.

What is your plan?

I asked.

Wait, he said.

Soon you will understand.

Soon it will be time to speak.

But not yet.

First you must be prepared.

First you must be ready.

Ready for what?

To be my witness.

To tell the world what you have seen.

to declare my glory in Iran.

I felt a mixture of excitement and terror.

Being a witness meant going public.

It meant exposing myself.

It meant becoming a target.

But if that’s what Jesus was calling me to do, then I would do it.

Over the next several weeks, I continued my studies.

Pastor Resa began teaching me more about the vision Jesus had shown me, about revival, about how God moved in history.

He told me stories of great awakenings in other countries.

Wales in 1904, Korea in 1907, China in the 1980s and 90s, Indonesia in the 1960s.

Every time God brings revival, it starts with prayer, Pastor Resa explained.

And it’s always preceded by persecution.

The church is refined through suffering and then when the time is right, God pours out his spirit in power.

Is that what’s happening in Iran?

I asked.

Are we being refined through persecution?

I believe so.

Pastor Resza said, “For 45 years, the church in Iran has been under pressure.

Thousands have been arrested.

Many have been killed.

But through it all, the church has grown.

We’ve gone from maybe a few thousand believers in 1979 to estimates of over a million today.

And that growth is accelerating”.

A million?

I was shocked.

I had no idea there were that many Christians in Iran.

Most are hidden, Pastor Resa said.

like us meeting in homes, secret gatherings, but they’re real, they’re faithful, and they’re praying for the day when they can worship openly, when Iran can be free.

And you think that day is coming?

I know it is, Pastor Raza said with conviction, because Jesus told you it was coming.

And when God speaks, his word does not return void.

What he has promised, he will accomplish.

Three months after my escape, David came to me with important news.

We’re moving you again, he said.

But this time it’s not because of danger.

It’s because we want you to see something.

What?

The broader network, David said.

You’ve been moving between safe houses, but you haven’t seen the full scope of what God is doing in Iran.

Pastor Reza thinks it’s time you did.

Over the next several weeks, David took me on a journey across Iran.

We traveled in secret, always careful, but I got to see things I’d never imagined.

Underground churches in nearly every major city.

House gatherings with dozens of believers.

Secret baptisms performed in the middle of the night.

Iranians from all backgrounds, young and old, rich and poor, all united in their faith in Jesus.

In Isvahan, I met a former revolutionary guard commander who had converted after Jesus appeared to him in a dream.

In Tabre, I met a woman who had been a radical Muslim but found Christ through an online Bible study.

In Mashad, I met an entire family who had been Muslims for generations, but were now Christians.

Each story was unique, but they all had one thing in common.

Jesus had pursued them.

He had revealed himself.

He had called them out of darkness into light, and they had responded despite the cost.

“Do you see”?

Pastor Resza asked me one evening.

We were in a safe house in Kmana after visiting another underground church.

“Do you see what God is doing”?

Yes, I said, tears in my eyes.

It’s already happening.

The revival, it’s already begun.

Yes, Pastor Raza agreed.

But it’s still underground, still hidden.

What Jesus showed you in your vision was this same movement, but open public, multiplied a hundred times over.

That’s what’s coming.

That’s what we’re praying toward.

When?

I asked.

When will it happen?

I don’t know, Pastor Raza said.

But I believe your role is important.

God has given you a platform whether you wanted it or not.

You’re the granddaughter of the Supreme Leader.

When you tell your story publicly, the whole world will pay attention and that attention will shine a light on what God is doing in Iran.

You think I should go public?

When the time is right, yes, Pastor Raza said, “But that time isn’t now.

Now, you’re still learning, still growing, still being prepared.

But soon Jesus will tell you when, and when he does, we’ll help you.

6 months after my escape, I was back in Tan, hidden in a safe house I’d never been to before.

The manhunt had died down somewhat.

They were still looking for me, but the intensity had lessened.

My grandfather had stopped making public appeals.

The reward was still offered, but the constant media coverage had faded.

That night, I had the most vivid dream I’d had since my first encounter with Jesus.

In the dream, I was standing in a vast auditorium.

It was filled with people, thousands of them, Iranians, but also people from other nations, all watching me, all listening.

And I was telling my story, speaking into a microphone, declaring what Jesus had done for me, describing the vision he had given me, proclaiming that Iran would be saved.

As I spoke, something miraculous happened.

People began weeping.

They began calling out to Jesus.

They began converting right there in that moment.

Thousands of people all at once turning to Christ.

It was like what happened on the day of Pentecost in the book of Acts.

I woke up with tears streaming down my face.

I knew what the dream meant.

It was time.

Jesus was calling me to step out of hiding to be his witness to tell the world my story.

But how?

I was still a fugitive, still hunted.

I couldn’t just hold a press conference or post on social media.

The moment I revealed my location, revolutionary guards would descend on me.

I prayed about it for several days.

And then Pastor Reza came to me with an idea.

There’s a journalist, he said, a Christian journalist who works for an international news organization.

She’s done extensive reporting on religious persecution in Iran.

She’s trustworthy and she has a platform that reaches millions.

You think I should give her an interview?

I think you should tell your story, Pastor Raza said.

but on your terms.

Recorded in secret, released to the world all at once.

By the time it goes public, you’ll be in a safe location where they can’t immediately reach you.

And then and then you do what Jesus called you to do.

Pastor Raza said, “You become his witness.

You tell the world what God is doing in Iran.

You call on the Iranian people to turn to Christ.

You proclaim that the Islamic Republic’s days are numbered”.

My heart raced.

It was terrifying.

It was dangerous.

It could get me killed.

But it was also exactly what Jesus had called me to do.

Set up the interview, I said.

I’m ready.

Bookmark WG.

The interview was arranged for 3 weeks later.

It would be recorded in a secret location with only the journalist, her cameraman, and a few trusted members of the underground church present.

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