From Royalty to Death Sentence: How Angels Saved Me from My Father’s Wrath
The cold blade pressed against my throat, and for a moment time seemed to stand still.
My father’s gaze, that same gaze that had once commanded respect from rulers and businessmen, now burned with fury.
Renounce this blasphemy, Samira, or your blood will cleanse the dishonor you have brought to our house.”
His voice trembled, not with fear, but with pain and disbelief. And there with the knife’s edge ready to decide my fate, an inexplicable piece washed over me.
Father, I cannot deny the one who gave me true life. I replied. I didn’t even recognize my own voice.
It was as if the Holy Spirit itself spoke through me. Yes, I was afraid.
I am Samira Alfisal, daughter of an Arab Amir, an aist to one of the richest and most influential families in the Middle East.
I grew up surrounded by gold and luxury. But none of that prepared me for the moment when my faith would be put to the test.
The palace where I had lived since childhood, the same place that symbolized power and security, had been transformed into a prison.
Guards who once protected me now held me by the arms. While my own father, blinded by pride and tradition, prepared to kill me in the name of honor.
Perhaps you’ve never faced a knife. But perhaps you also know the feeling of being trapped by fear, by guilt, by a life that seems perfect on the outside, but empty on the inside.
My cell was made of marble, surrounded by luxury. Yours may be invisible, but the same Jesus who entered my desert also holds the keys to your prison.
For years, I lived surrounded by religion, wealth, and knowledge. I was educated in the best schools in Europe, studied the Quran with renowned teachers, and was betrothed to the son of an important minister.
I had everything the world could offer except what mattered most, peace. In the silence of my chambers, among jewels and expensive carpets, I wept without understanding the emptiness that consumed me.
It was on one of those lonely nights that I found, hidden among western philosophy books, a small New Testament forgotten by a foreign visitor.
Curious, I began to read. Jesus words seemed to pierce the walls of my heart.
Simple words, but full of a truth I had never heard before. Each page revealed a love that demanded nothing in return.
A God who was not bound by rituals, but wanted a relationship with me. My life changed completely when I gave my heart to Christ.
But my conversion didn’t remain a secret for long. When my father found out, his fury was indescribable.
To him, I had dishonored not only our family, but an entire lineage. And that’s how I arrived that night with the knife pressed against my neck.
But what happened next was something that words cannot fully describe. An intense light, as if heaven itself had descended upon us, filled the room.
The guards recoiled in terror, and my father fell to his knees, too weak to continue.
A powerful, real, and sweet presence invaded that place, and everyone knew it was not human.
It was God. That night, the Lord not only saved my life, he began to transform the hearts of my family.
The miracle we witnessed opened doors that no royal decree could close. This happened on April 7th, 2019 in Aljaf, one of the most influential regions of Saudi Arabia.
The palace where I grew up, surrounded by high walls, armed guards, and state secrets, could not prevent the touch of God’s grace.
He who created the desert also caused living water to spring forth in it. And that water continues to flow to this day.
Today, my mission is simple. To tell what Jesus did for me. He found me where no one else could.
Freed me from fear and showed me that the true kingdom is not made of gold or power, but of love and forgiveness.
If you feel trapped in something that seems impossible to break free from, remember, not even the desert is too vast to stop God’s love from reaching you.
I grew up surrounded by privilege. She was the only daughter among four siblings.
My father’s jewel, as he used to say, my desert star. That nickname echoed throughout the palace and reminded everyone how protected and cherished I was.
From an early age, I was prepared to occupy a prominent place in society. I studied at the most prestigious boarding schools in Switzerland and England, learned five languages, and by the age of 19, I was already piloting helicopters and participating in state meetings alongside my father, while my brothers dedicated themselves to military training.
To the world, I lived the dream of any woman of my culture. But behind the marble walls and silk veils, there was a silence that screamed at me from within.
I performed rituals, followed traditions, and repeated memorized prayers. But my heart remained empty.
There were questions no one could answer. A longing that no achievement or wealth could silence.
Perhaps you understand what this is like. Having everything and yet feeling that something is missing.
It was in this restlessness that God began to seek me out in a way I could never have imagined.
During my years at Oxford, I met Elena, a young Greek woman who became my roommate.
She was unlike anyone I knew. She wasn’t impressed by my last name, my status, or my luxury cars.
There was a lightness about her, a serene peace, a sparkle in her eyes that I couldn’t explain.
One night, I received the news that my marriage had been arranged with a man 30 years older than me, chosen for political expediency.
This devastated me. I ran to my room and burst into tears. Elena approached, enveloped me in a silent embrace, and without hesitation began to pray.
Jesus, my friend and Savior, this woman is suffering. Show her that you see her, that you know her by name, and that you have a purpose for her life.
I stood motionless. No one had ever spoken to God like that before. With such intimacy, with such love.
In my tradition, God was distant, unreachable. But Elena spoke as if he were right there, present, listening to every word.
When the prayer ended, I asked almost in a whisper, “How can you talk to him like that?
As if he were a real person.” She smiled with a piece I envied. And replied, “Because he is real, Samira.
Jesus is alive. He knows you better than you know yourself and wants to reveal himself to you.”
That conversation haunted me for nights on end. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t.
Everything I’d been taught about faith and obedience seemed small compared to the idea of a personal God who loves, listens, and draws near.
A short time later, I began secretly attending a small Bible study group that Elena participated in at her local church.
I dressed discreetly, concealed my identity, and sat in the corners, observing and listening.
Each meeting was like an oasis in the desert I lived in inside. Gradually, the figure of Jesus began to come alive before me, not as a distant prophet, but as a compassionate savior who called each one by name.
It was then that I found a verse that became my refuge. Fear not, for I have redeemed you.
I have called you by your name. You are mine. Isaiah 43:1. For many nights, I repeated those words softly, trying to believe them, while the fear of what would happen if my spiritual quest were discovered kept me awake.
But even in the shadows of fear, a light began to dawn within me. And that light had a name, Jesus.
When I finished my studies and returned to Saudi Arabia, I carried with me something infinitely more precious than all the titles and diplomas I had earned.
A small Bible hidden in a secret compartment of my suitcase. I knew what that meant.
Being caught with that book could cost me everything, my freedom, my position, and even my life.
But there was something within me stronger than fear. I had known the truth and once the light touches the heart, it is impossible to return to darkness.
My return to the palace was greeted with celebrations and honors. My father awaited me with pride and my mother, radiant, was already making plans.
I discovered that during my absence, my marriage had been arranged with Hassan Alani, son of the oil minister, a man 32 years my senior.
The wedding would be a state event, a spectacle of power and tradition. You were born for this moment, Samira, my mother would say as she oversaw every detail of the dress.
A work of art that cost more than a hospital’s annual budget. I smiled, nodded, and played the role of the obedient daughter.
But inside, my heart was writhing. I wanted to scream. At night, when everyone was asleep, I would light a small lamp and retrieve my Bible from its hiding place.
Those pages were my comfort and my torment. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. The Gospels became my refuge.
Every word of Jesus seemed to call me by name. And the more I read, the more impossible it became to continue living a faith that was merely superficial.
I knew I was being transformed. Even while trying to hide it. It was on a quiet afternoon while I was walking through the gardens that something unexpected happened.
I heard a soft song coming from among the rose bushes. The melody seemed familiar.
I stopped and realized it was a hymn I had heard during my years in England.
The voice came from Nadia, one of the gardeners. I approached discreetly. “Where did you learn that song?”
I asked in a low voice. She turned pale instantly, dropped her pruning shears, and stammered.
“Forgive me, your highness. It won’t happen again.” “No, please,” I whispered. “I’m not angry.
I just want to understand.” Her eyes filled with tears. She looked around, making sure no one was watching us.
Then she said almost silently, “My father was Ethiopian. He taught me these hymns before he died for his faith.”
That phrase pierced me like an arrow. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone.
I discovered that afternoon that there were people within the palace itself who secretly followed Jesus.
Foreign workers, an Egyptian nurse, two Jordanian guards, all living their faith in secret, risking everything just to worship.
Nadia and I created a secret code. Whenever it was safe to talk, she would leave a white rose in a vase on my balcony.
It was the signal that the siblings were gathering. And so, at the times when everyone prostrated for Islamic prayers, I would quietly go out and meet them in an abandoned greenhouse in the palace.
Among orchids, palm trees, and clay pots, we formed a small church. Ibrahim, one of the guards, had been a pastor in Jordan before fleeing persecution.
He was the one who guided us in the scriptures and in prayers. With each encounter, I felt something growing inside me, a living, real, profound faith.
It was no longer the religion inherited from my parents, but a personal relationship with the God who had called me by name.
The fear was still there, but his presence was greater. In that secret garden, hidden from the world, I began to understand the true meaning of Jesus words.
And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32, “The kingdom of God is like treasure hidden in a field.”
Jesus said, “When someone finds it, he sells everything he has and buys that field.”
These words haunted me day and night. I read them, reread them, and wondered, “Am I willing to sell everything?
My position, my name, my security, even my own identity, all because of this treasure I found, Jesus.”
As the wedding date approached, the struggle within me intensified. Outwardly, I continued to play the obedient princess, but inside a silent war consumed me.
My newfound faith brought me a peace I had never felt before. A certainty of purpose that gave meaning to everything.
But at the same time, the fear of the consequences suffocated me. I knew that if I declared my faith, I could lose everything I had ever known.
One night, unable to sleep, I went to the garden. The sky was clear and the stars shone as if silent witnesses to what was about to happen.
I knelt among the flowers and began to pray. Lord, I don’t know what to do.
If I confess my faith, I will lose everything. But if I deny you, I will lose myself.
Show me the way. As I prayed, an indescribable calm came over me. I heard no voice, but a gentle, almost palpable certainty enveloped my heart.
Then a verse I had read days before echoed within me. Whoever wants to save their life will lose it.
But whoever loses their life for me will find it. At that moment, I knew what I needed to do.
I couldn’t continue living a double life. I couldn’t walk down the aisle pretending to be the woman I no longer was.
I chose to be faithful to Christ no matter what happened. The opportunity came the next day during breakfast with my mother and older brother, Karim.
We were sitting at the large marble table when she distracted by her tablet commented, “Imam al-sulleman will come next week to begin your spiritual purification sessions.
He wants to ensure you are properly prepared for the wedding.” That phrase spoken so naturally ignited something within me.
I couldn’t remain silent. I took a deep breath and in a firm voice said, “I don’t need the purification of the magnet.
I have already found my spiritual path.” My mother froze. The cup slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.
Kareem looked up alarmed. “What do you mean, Samira?” He asked. I looked at the two of them, my heart racing, but my voice calm.
I found Jesus. Not as a prophet, but as my Lord and Savior. I cannot marry Hassan, nor pretend to be someone I am not anymore.
The silence that followed was absolute, heavy, almost suffocating. The color drained from my mother’s face, and Kareem was the first to react.
Take back what you said immediately, she hissed, glancing around. Someone might hear you.
This is just a phase, Samira. A confusion stemming from the time she spent in the West.
It’s not a phase, I replied with tears in my eyes. It’s the deepest truth I’ve ever known.
He stood up suddenly, pushing the chair back. I’ll talk to Dad. Until then, you stay in your room.
This has never happened before. Understand? Never. I was escorted by the guards to my quarters.
I knew that from that moment on, nothing would be the same. The calm that followed was merely the silence before the storm.
But to my surprise, fear did not overcome me. I felt a peace that didn’t make sense, a serenity that didn’t come from within.
And then I understood with a clarity I’ve never forgotten what the Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians.
And the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
That night, a prisoner in my own palace, I was freer than I had ever been.
I remember the exact time, 11:42 p.m. I glanced at the clock just before my bedroom door opened.
My father entered closely followed by Kareem and three trusted guards. The air was thick with smell, a mix of expensive perfume, and the metallic scent of fear that permeated their every step.
Outside, the sandstorm battered against the windows, tinging everything with a yellowish, almost supernatural color.
Samira, my father’s voice cut through the silence, controlled but laden with a poorly disguised fury.
Kareem informed me about certain confusions you are experiencing. I stood up without hesitation, though my own calmness surprised me.
I looked directly into my father’s eyes without averting my gaze and said firmly, “It’s not confusion, Dad.
I found the truth in Jesus Christ. His face changed before me, and it was the first time I’d seen anything like it in his expression.
A mixture of disbelief, anger, and pain. The kind of pain that only comes with the feeling of betrayal.
He was furious, but also deeply hurt. “Do you know what you’re saying?” His voice trembled, but with a latent threat that was more than clear.
“Do you understand what this means for us? For our family, for our name, the laws of our people?”
I looked at him knowing that the words coming out of my mouth were heavier than any blow.
I knew that my life as I knew it was ending there. But at the same time, I knew I couldn’t go back.
I understand, Father, I replied, my voice calm but firm. But I cannot renounce the truth I have found.
Jesus said, I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me.
At that moment, my father exploded. His fury knew no bounds. He made a brusk gesture and the guards approached me ready to act.
One of them, Fisel, avoided my gaze. Later I learned that he too was part of the secret Christian group that existed within the palace.
My father, his face contorted with anger, ordered, “Take her to the meditation chamber. Leave her there until she regains her sanity.”
The meditation chamber wasn’t exactly what the name suggested. In fact, it was an isolated cell on the lower floor of the palace where family members who behaved in an undesirable manner were confined.
Initially, the room was planned as a refuge during external attacks. But over the years, it had been transformed into a place of correction.
As they led me through the corridors, I could see some of the servants standing there watching from a distance, their faces a mixture of shock and fear.
Among them, I recognized Nadia, the gardener. She made a discreet gesture of prayer and that simple act gave me renewed strength.
The room was austere without any luxuries but not uncomfortable. A simple bed, an attached bathroom and thick walls that blocked out any outside sound.
There were no windows, just an artificial light that never completely went out, making me lose track of time.
I spent 3 days there, fed regularly, but without any significant human contact, except for the guards who took turns on the shifts.
I used that time to pray, recite from memory the verses I had learned, and strengthen my resolve.
In isolation, I did not break. On the contrary, I found a strength there that I didn’t know I possessed.
Each prayer, each word of Jesus that I recited gave me a peace that defied logic.
Solitude was not my prison. On the contrary, it became my liberation. On the fourth day, the door opened and instead of a guard, my mother entered.
Her face was pale, marked by pain and sleepless nights. She looked at me with a mixture of deep sadness and heartbreak that pierced my heart.
Samira. Her voice trembled. What have you done to our family? I so desperately wanted to hug her.
To tell her that nothing in the world would make me lose the love I’d always had for her.
But I knew those words couldn’t be taken back. The path I chose was much more than a simple act of faith.
It was a decision that risked everything I loved. But at that moment, I knew that my freedom and my soul were more important than anything the world could offer me, even if the price was the loss of everything.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” my mother asked, her voice tired, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Why are you doing this to us, Samira?” I looked at her, tears in my eyes, but without guilt.
Mom, I’m not doing anything against you guys. I found something real, something that finally gives meaning to everything I’ve lived through,” she sighed, visibly shaken.
“Your father is devastated. The marriage contract is at risk. Hassan and his family are demanding guarantees of your religious fidelity.
Rumors have already begun to spread. Do you understand what this means?” I took her hands in mine and spoke sweetly.
“Mom, all my life, I’ve been what everyone wanted me to be. But for the first time, I’ve discovered who I really am.
She pulled her hands back as if my touch burned her. Her gaze hardened. You are an Alfisil.
That is your identity. Everything else is treason. Without saying anything more, she stood up and left, leaving behind a void that seemed to chill the air.
And I knew in that instant that the line had been crossed. There would be no more concessions, no middle ground.
That night, the entire palace seemed to be in suspense. I could hear hurried footsteps, muffled voices, echoes of arguments in the hallway.
I knelt on the cold floor and began to pray, preparing myself for what was to come.
The door slammed open. My father entered, this time accompanied not only by guards, but also by Shik Abdullah, the religious leader of our region, known for his ruthless interpretation of the law.
Behind them came my four brothers, all with closed and somber expressions. A family council has been called.
My father announced, his voice tense. The apostasy of a member of our rank is not a private matter.
It brings shame, threatens alliances, and shakes the stability of our home. The shake stepped forward.
His white beard and impeccable attire made him look like a living statue of authority.
Daughter of Abdul, I’ve heard troubling reports. Is it true that you abandoned the faith of your ancestors for Christian heresy?
I felt all eyes on me. My heart was pounding, but my voice came out clear without trembling.
I have found Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I don’t call this heresy, but truth.
A murmur echoed through the room. The shake closed his eyes, as if he had heard a curse.
“The law is clear,” he said coldly. “Apostasy is punishable by death. However, considering your position and the western influences that have led you astray, you will be given one last chance to renounce it.
If you do so publicly, your honor will be restored and shame will not fall upon your family.
I took a deep breath. I cannot deny what I know to be true.
My father gestured to Tar, my older brother. He approached, carrying something wrapped in an embroidered cloth.
Slowly, he unwrapped the fabric, revealing a ceremonial knife covered in jewels, a symbol of power and purity used for generations in rituals of honor.
The shake spoke in a grave tone. Tradition dictates that the purification be performed by the head of the family.
In this way, honor is restored and sin does not contaminate others. My father picked up the knife.
His hands were trembling. I had never seen him like this. I had always known him as a man of absolute control, but now he seemed torn between duty and love.
He looked me in the eyes and in an almost whispered voice asked, “Is this your last word, my daughter?”
I closed my eyes for a second and the verse came to my mind like a whisper from heaven itself.
Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my father in heaven. I looked at him again.
I can’t deny it, Dad. The room seemed to close in on the silence.
Then he stepped forward and pressed the cold blade against my throat. The cold metal touched my skin.
And in that instant, the world seemed to stop. But instead of fear, a profound peace enveloped me.
I felt I wasn’t alone. That the same God who had called me by name was there with me in that room filled with hatred and disbelief.
And it was there, between fury and faith, that the miracle began. I could feel the heat of my father’s breath against my face.
His eyes, once firm and full of authority, now trembled between fury and despair. The shake beside him pressed down on him.
Do it now, Abdul. Every second of hesitation is an affront to the honor of your house.
My father raised the knife with trembling hands. But what I saw in his eyes was not hatred.
It was pain. Love and tradition were waging a battle within him. And I knew that only God could intervene to win.
Then something impossible happened. The room, previously shrouded in shadows, and the tension of the moment, began to fill with a light that came neither from lamps nor moonlight.
It simply appeared. At first, it was soft, almost imperceptible, but soon it became intense, alive, as if the very air had begun to glow.
The knife in my father’s hand grew so hot that he dropped it with a scream.
The metallic sound of the metal hitting the floor echoed through the room, laden with something supernatural.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” Exclaimed the shake, recoiling with a pale face. But I knew that wasn’t witchcraft.
It was the living God, the same one who had called me by name months before, now showing his presence before everyone.
In my heart, echoed the words that had sustained me so many times. Fear not, for I am with you.
Be not dismayed, for I am your God. The light intensified, and within it, silhouettes began to form.
Human figures, but made of pure light. No projection, no trickery. They were real, as real as the fear and reverence that spread among us.
Angels, I murmured, tears streaming down my face. One of the guards fell to his knees, dropping his weapon.
My brothers recoiled, unable to look directly at that light. The shake began reciting verses from the Quran in a trembling voice, trying to fight against what he could not understand.
And then we all heard, not with our ears, but within our souls, a firm, powerful voice full of love.
Don’t touch my daughter. She belongs to me. Time seemed to stand still. For a few minutes, we were immersed in such a strong presence that even breathing felt sacred.
When the light faded, the silence was absolute. The air held an indescribable peace, and everyone was motionless, as if afraid to break that moment.
My father was the first to speak, his voice and his gaze lost. Take her to the north wing.
No one should approach her until we understand what happened here. The guards escorted me, but with a silent reverence.
It was no longer hatred that moved their steps. It was the fear of what they had witnessed.
I was taken to a secluded suite, comfortable, but guarded. Technically a prison, but in reality, a sanctuary in disguise.
Outside, two guards stood in shift. One of them was Fisel, the same one I had discovered was secretly a Christian.
During his shifts, he would slip small notes under my door. Every palace speaks of light, he once wrote.
Some say it was collective madness. Others think it was a divine sign. But there are those who have begun to search for answers.
It was there, alone and under surveillance, that I realized the miracle that had saved my life had also sown something much greater.
The seed of faith had been sown not only in me but in many hearts within that palace.
We who know the power of God know that this was neither coincidence nor illusion.
It was the Lord himself manifesting to show that nothing can silence the truth. Through Fisel’s notes, I discovered what was happening outside my golden walls.
My father had decreed absolute silence about the incident. Any mention of that light would be punished with immediate expulsion from the palace.
>> >> Shik Abdullah, the man who had demanded my execution, fell ill a few days later.
High fevers, recurring nightmares, visions that made him scream during the night. My brothers, terrified, avoided even meeting my gaze.
It was as if everyone was trying to erase what had happened. But the presence of God had left marks too deep to be forgotten.
If you’ve ever experienced something supernatural, even something small, you know what I mean. There are times when the heavens open just enough to remind us that we still serve a God of miracles.
The same God yesterday, today, and forever. A week after that night, something unexpected happened.
My mother asked to see me. My father reluctantly finally allowed it after much insistence.
When she entered the room, I almost didn’t recognize her. The impeccable woman, always hotty and cold, now seemed fragile.
Her swollen eyes betrayed sleepless nights. She sat on the edge of the bed bluntly and said, I saw something, Samira.
Something I can’t explain. Everyone saw mother, I replied gently. The whole palace knows. No, you don’t understand, she murmured, trembling.
Since that night, I’ve been dreaming. Dreams so real that I wake up crying. There’s a man in white clothes who calls me by name.
My heart raced. What does he say? I asked almost breathless. He calls me Ila and says, “Your prayers for your daughter have been heard even though you never said them aloud.”
She started to cry. How could he know that? I’ve always loved my children, but I never knew how to show it.
I did what was expected of me. I fulfilled my role, but I never felt free.
I took her hands in mine, and for the first time, she didn’t pull them away.
Mom, it’s Jesus. He knows the thoughts that never become words. He sees the heart.
That moment was the beginning of something that would forever change our relationship. Her visits became frequent, always with formal pretexts, to check on your well-being, to bring instructions.
But I knew the truth. She came to listen. She asked about God, about the gospel, about what it meant to be born again.
And I spoke to her of a love that doesn’t demand perfection, only surrender. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be enough, she confessed one day, her eyes welling up with tears.
But this freedom you speak of, it’s like breathing for the first time. Meanwhile, curious news began to spread within the palace.
Fisel told me that three servants had discreetly sought information about Christianity. One of my brothers, Jamal, had been seen reading pages torn from a Bible.
Small sparks of faith were beginning to ignite in the darkness. But my father was still ruthless.
According to Faizal, he spent his days in meetings with political and religious leaders trying to decide what to do with me.
Execution had been ruled out. No one dared challenge what they had witnessed. Even the most skeptical admitted that something inexplicable had happened that night.
Still, the remaining options were cruel. Exile, permanent confinement, or a forced marriage somewhere far away.
And it was precisely when everything seemed uncertain, when fear and hope mingled within me, that I received an unexpected visit, one that would forever change the course of my life.
The tension in the air was almost palpable, as if fate were watching us closely, waiting to decide which path to take.
Each step I took down that dark corridor seemed heavier than the last. Fisizel, with his unwavering calm, stood beside me.
But his eyes didn’t lie. There was fear there. Fear of the unknown. Fear of everything that could go wrong.
But there was also something more, something stronger than any fear. Faith. He was fulfilling his mission.
Silently but firmly, we reached the small camouflage door, and there was Jamal, his eyes alert to every sound that arose.
He looked at me with a mixture of nervousness and love, and without words, extended his hand.
He was no longer the distant brother I used to see, lost amidst the rigid culture that surrounded us.
He was someone transformed, someone willing to risk everything to save me, to save my life.
“Are you ready?” He asked his voice as if the gravity of the moment were weighing heavily upon him.
I took a deep breath trying to contain the agitation growing inside me. I looked at him and saw the firm resolve on his face.
He was no longer fighting against tradition or what his family thought. He was fighting for my life, for my freedom, for my right to live my faith without fear.
And at that moment, I understood that if he was willing to go that far, I had to be, too.
Ready? I replied, my voice firmer than I felt. Jamal pulled open the door, and together we walked down an even narrower corridor.
The path seemed endless, but at the same time, it was the only way out.
Each turn took us further away from the life I had known. With each step, further from my family, my culture, the security that had already been destroyed.
I didn’t know what the future held for me, but I knew I couldn’t continue living in a place where the truth was silent and freedom, a mirage.
We arrived at the secret exit from the outer gardens where a dark car awaited us, hidden by the storm that was beginning to intensify.
Fisel was the first to get into the vehicle and then Jamal helped me in sitting beside me.
The rain was torrential, beating against the car windows. But amidst those drops, there was something more, a feeling of protection, as if God were there, holding our hand, guiding us out of that nightmare.
The drive to the British embassy was faster than I could have imagined. My mind was in a whirlwind of emotions, fear, hope, gratitude, and a deep sadness.
I was leaving behind everything I knew. My family, my home, the life my father and mother had dreamed for me.
But at the same time, I was going towards freedom, towards the truth that God had shown me.
Upon arriving at the embassy, a woman greeted me with a smile that despite the seriousness of the situation, brought me unexpected relief.
She didn’t ask anything. She simply led me to a safe room where I would spend the night.
The next day would bring new arrangements. I would be transferred to a new vehicle and in a few hours I would be on a flight to London.
I still didn’t know much about the future, but I knew it would be different.
I was about to begin a new life. Every minute my mind returned to my last conversation with Jamal before heading for safety.
I didn’t fully understand what he had seen that night. He said it was something he couldn’t explain but couldn’t deny.
And in his eyes I saw the reflection of the same truth I had seen.
The presence of God which cannot be ignored no matter how hard we try.
Now the future lay before me like a blank canvas waiting to be filled.
There was no going back. What had happened had happened. God had already done the impossible and shown me his direct intervention.
The sandstorm battering the car seemed a metaphor for the turbulent times that were behind us.
But at the same time, there was something gentle and firm on the road ahead.
Something that told me the Lord was with me every step of the way.
It was a new journey, a new life. And although the following days were uncertain, one certainty remained.
I was alive. I was free. The first few months in London were undoubtedly the most difficult of my entire life.
The city was vibrant, full of new opportunities, and at the same time, strangely lonely.
I was in a completely different country without the comfort of family, without the identity that my culture had given me.
I often found myself lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, trying to find my place in a world that seemed too vast and immense for someone like me.
Each day, the internal struggle of adaptation mingled with memories of nights spent alone. My body physically free, yet still trapped in memories, in longing for the land I had left behind.
Sometimes I would find myself standing, gazing out the window of my small apartment, thinking of the arid lands of the Middle East, of the sand and stone constructions that lingered in my past.
That’s where it all began. Where my name meant something, where my story was tied to a family legacy, to a belief system that had been imposed on me since birth.
I had been Samira, Abdul’s daughter. And now I was only beginning to understand who I really was.
Without labels, without impositions, the rebuilding process was gradual. Far and Aisha, my new housemates, became my sisters in faith, companions on a journey of renewed faith.
They both came from backgrounds burdened by religious persecution. Though their stories weren’t as dramatic as mine.
Farah, who came from Iran, had disguised herself as a tourist before finding her own escape to the West.
Aisha from Pakistan had lived with the constant fear of her conversion being discovered with a family still searching for her.
Together we supported each other and shared stories about the price each of us had paid for our faith.
Each story was painful but also a testament to something greater to the grace of God that in one way or another had set us free.
Little by little I learned to breathe again. I tried to resume my studies which was a real emotional battle.
Each class seemed to tear pieces of myself away, as if the identity I was trying to rebuild was being forced to adapt to something I didn’t yet fully understand.
It wasn’t easy. I missed my family, especially during the loneliest moments, like winter afternoons when the rain beat against the windows and I found myself with no one to share my deepest thoughts with.
I missed something I didn’t know if I could recover. But there was something stronger than the fear of loneliness.
It was the presence of God. I felt him there every day by my side.
Sometimes in moments of despair, he brought an unexpected peace. He became my foundation.
I remember one night when I was particularly distressed, my heart heavy, and I heard clearly in my mind, I will give you rest for my grace is sufficient for you.
It was at that moment during a silent prayer in my small room that I finally understood the true meaning of what I had experienced.
I wasn’t alone. God had orchestrated my escape, my freedom in a miraculous way.
He had protected my life in so many ways I couldn’t even imagine at the time.
Every detail from the support of Fisel and Jamal to the providential help of the Christian network showed the faithfulness of a God who would not abandon me no matter the situation.
The truth was that despite everything I had lost, I had gained something infinitely more precious, a new life in Christ.
>> >> But not everything was easy. During those first months, there was always the persistent fear of being discovered.
Insecurity followed me like a shadow. Once I heard rumors that my father had sent people to look for me, that my escape had caused a great commotion.
With each police siren or each knock on the door, I felt a chill down my spine.
The idea of being brought back home as a traitor, of being taken back to the place where my faith was a death sentence, paralyzed me.
It was a long process of learning, of spiritual and emotional growth. But little by little, with the support of my new sisters in faith and God’s constant care, I began to understand that even in adversity, he was with me.
I began to see the world in a new way with a clearer vision of the truth of Christ, who had always been there, waiting for me to recognize him.
I no longer needed my old name or my old culture to define who I was.
>> >> I was the king’s daughter, and that was all that mattered. Now, time passed, and my life began to stabilize.
I had found a new identity, not just in false documents or in a distant city, but in Christ, who rescued me from death and gave me an abundant life.
I knew I still had much to learn, many things to understand, but the peace I experienced was something I would never have found without God’s supernatural intervention.
The story of my escape, my journey of faith, was only the beginning of something even greater, something God was preparing for me.
He had given me the chance to start over, and I knew that wherever I went, his grace would follow me.
I remained silent for a few seconds, unable to process what I had just heard.
My mother, that word echoed within me like something distant, almost forgotten, yet still deeply rooted.
“Is she all right?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling. She’s different, Elena replied.
She seemed exhausted, dejected, but determined. She said she needed to talk to you, that she traveled here alone, and that she won’t return until she finds you.
My heart raced. For months, I had prayed for her, asking God to touch her heart, to open her eyes as he had opened mine.
Was this really happening, or was it a carefully set trap to lure me back?
Fear and hope mingled in an uncontrollable torrent. I asked Elena to describe more details.
She gave me an envelope, she said. She said it was for you and that only I could deliver it personally.
In the following days, I barely slept. Pastor Michael and the Protection Network team insisted on verifying the situation before any meeting.
Caution is necessary, Sarah, he warned. Love moves us, but prudence protects us. I agreed, even though the weight seemed endless.
When they finally handed me the envelope, my hands trembled. Inside was a letter written in my mother’s unmistakable handwriting.
My daughter, if this letter reaches you, it is because the God you serve has made the impossible possible.
Since the night of the light, something inside me has changed. I can’t sleep without seeing that man in white in my dreams.
He calls me by name and says that you are under his protection. I resisted for a while, but I can no longer deny what he has done in me.
I was baptized in secret. The shake is dead. Your father is sick and confused.
Jamal has disappeared. Only I and the faith we now share remain. I don’t know if I will be able to see you in this life, but I want you to know I also belong to Jesus now.
Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollable. I read and reread those words, unable to believe they came from the same woman who had once looked at me with such disdain because of my faith.
That letter was more than a reunion. It was confirmation that God had not only saved me, but had also begun to redeem everything I had left behind.
Elena told me that my mother was staying at a boarding house near the university.
Against all advice, I asked her to take me there. When I entered the building’s simple lobby, I saw a woman sitting near the window, her veil slightly disheveled, holding a small blue covered book, even aged and frail.
I would recognize her anywhere. Mother, I whispered. She stood up and for a moment we just looked at each other.
Two lives separated by different worlds, now united by the same faith. She walked over to me and hugged me, not like the rigid, restrained woman I remembered, but like a broken, transformed mother.
We cried together for long minutes without needing to say anything. When we finally separated, she showed me the book she was holding, an Arabic Bible.
“He found me, daughter,” she said, smiling through tears. “The same Jesus who saved you reached me, too.
That was without a doubt the most powerful moment of my life. No visible miracle, no celestial manifestation could compare to that reunion.
There, in a simple guest house in the heart of London, I realized the true reach of God’s grace.
A grace that transcends borders, defies traditions, and rebuilds fragmented families. Today, looking back, I understand that my escape was not the end of my story, but the beginning of a calling.
I was saved not only to live in freedom, but to witness the power of a God who still works miracles.
Samira Alisol died in that spiritual desert. But Sarah Lawrence lives to tell what the love of Christ can do, even in the most unlikely places.
If you also have someone in your family you’ve been praying for for years, don’t give up.
The same light that shone in my past can reach any heart, even the one that seems most distant.
Because the God who transformed my mother and gave me a new life is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
When Elena called me saying that a woman had shown up at the university claiming to be my mother, my heart stopped for a moment.
It was as if the past, carefully guarded and painfully overcome, had found me again.
She came alone, Elena explained. She said that nobody knows where she is, not her father, not the authorities.
She’s desperate to see you. I spent the night in prayer before making any decisions.
The security team that had helped me escape urged caution. But after seeking God’s guidance, we agreed on a meeting in a neutral location, a discrete cafe in Geneva, with the protection team watching from a distance.
When I saw her enter, time seemed to stand still. That woman before me, who had once been a symbol of elegance and control, now bore deep marks of worry on her face.
The jewels had been replaced by simplicity, the hotty gaze by vulnerability. For a moment, we were just mother and daughter.
Two broken souls trying to find each other again. She hugged me tightly, trembling. I’ve been looking for you for so long, she whispered in Arabic.
Your father thinks I’m on a retreat in France. Nobody knows I’m here. How did you manage to find me?
I asked, trying to hold back tears. I hired investigators, followed rumors, prayed until I remembered that friend of yours, the Greek woman.
She was the one who helped me. I sat in silence listening to my mother describe the years that followed my escape.
My father’s anger, the investigations, the rumors that I had been kidnapped by foreign agents.
The shake who had presided over the family council had resigned shortly afterward, isolating himself completely from the world.
He was never the same after that night, my mother said. He spoke of lights and voices, but no one believed him.
Finally, she opened her bag with trembling hands and took out a small leather-bound book.
Jamal gave me this, she said, pushing the volume toward me. When I opened it, I recognized it immediately.
It was a New Testament in Arabic. I read it, Samira, she continued, her voice breaking.
I didn’t understand everything, but the words of that man, Jesus, spoke to me in a way that nothing else had, and he keeps appearing in my dreams, calling my name.
My heart filled with a mixture of reverence and indescribable joy. There in a discrete cafe in Geneva, I led my mother in a simple yet eternal prayer, the prayer of surrender to Christ.
The tears streaming down her face reflected not only repentance but liberation. At that moment, I realized that the same God who had rescued me from the golden walls of a palace was now reaching the heart of the woman who had once been the symbol of those walls.
This story is not just about persecution or escape. It’s about a God who doesn’t give up, who crosses borders, traditions, and fears to reach even those the world considers unreachable.
I was raised to be inaccessible, surrounded by luxury, guarded by laws and expectations. But God’s love found a way where there seemed to be none.
He used simple people, a Greek roommate, an Ethiopian gardener, a Jordanian guard, all pieces of the same divine plan.
Today when I tell my story, I do not do so as one who speaks of a distant past, but as a living witness to a God who continues to transform lives.
Because just as he rescued me from visible and invisible prisons, he is still reaching hearts, including my mothers.
Have you ever wondered if there’s someone in your life who seems unreachable for Christ?
That person whose heart seems completely closed, whose resistance to the gospel seems insurmountable?
I want to share with you a testimony that’s not just about me, but about God’s transformative power to reach even the darkest places and the hardest hearts.
I come from a place where at first glance, everything seemed perfect. Wealth, luxury, respect, everything seemed guaranteed.
However, my marble and gold palace was actually a prison. And sometimes the most oppressive prisons have no visible bars.
Like you who perhaps live in a nation with religious freedom but are trapped by addictions, toxic relationships, materialism, or suffocating cultural expectations.
These invisible prisons can be even harder to escape. But Christ offers true liberation. He said, “If the sun sets you free, you will be truly free.”
John 8:36. And it is precisely in this kind of freedom that God has reached me.
On the darkest night of my life, when death seemed imminent, I felt a supernatural presence.
The knife touched my throat. And despite the terror, I experienced an inexplicable peace.
I didn’t see angels physically, but I knew God was there in an unmistakable way.
He was closer to me than I could ever imagine. This wasn’t a trick of the mind.
It was real. When you reach your limit and see that everything has failed, when there’s nowhere else to go, you discover that the one within you is greater than everything around you.
Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world. 1.
John 4:4. Sometimes those who persecute you today are the ones God will use to spread the gospel tomorrow.
The man who guarded me, Fisel, a guard assigned to keep me prisoner, became my liberator.
>> >> He saw the truth and began to help me, guiding me in my escape.
My brother Jamal, who was initially horrified by my conversion, facilitated my departure, and today he also follows Christ.
My mother, who initially rejected me, now embraces Christ with all her heart. Perhaps you’re wondering, how can this happen?
How does a persecutor become an evangelist? God is an expert at transforming even the fiercest opponents of the gospel.
The cost of disciplehip is real, but the reward is priceless. No, Jesus never promised that following him would be easy.
In fact, he warned, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”
Matthew 16:24. I lost everything. My job, my social identity, my financial security, and most painfully, contact with my family.
But I can say with complete conviction that despite everything I lost, I found something that cannot be stolen from me.
Christ. God used even the most difficult moments of my life to show me his purpose.
When I started sharing my faith, I didn’t know the impact my story would have.
I had no idea that my words would plant seeds in the hearts of my mother, my siblings, so many others around me, including people from my old home and even my workplace.
As Jesus said, you are open letters known and read by all. 1 Corinthians 3:2.
Never underestimate the power of your testimony. Every story of personal transformation has the power to touch lives in ways you may never understand.
It’s not about being perfect or having all the answers, but about being faithful in sharing what God has done in your life.
In the most terrifying moments of my experience, facing my father, awaiting imminent execution, fleeing on a stormy night, I experienced something supernatural.
A peace that surpasses all understanding. It wasn’t the peace of a safe environment or favorable circumstances, but the peace that comes from the presence of God.
A peace that remains when everything else fails. When everything around you is falling apart, you can still rest in the fact that God is greater.
And perhaps for you, your palace is different from mine. You may not be facing physical persecution, but perhaps you are dealing with the ridicule of educated colleagues who mock your faith, the rejection of family members who don’t understand your convictions, or the cultural pressure to compromise your values.
Your ceremonial knife may be the threat of losing a promotion at work, a relationship, or even your social status.
But the principles are the same. Christ offers liberation. If you have someone in your life who seems unreachable for the gospel, I want you to know no one is beyond God’s reach.
No matter how hard someone’s heart is, no matter how far away someone seems to be, God can reach them.
He has already done so for me, for my mother, for my brother, and for so many other lives around the world.
Remember that the freedom Christ offers is not limited to escaping oppressive physical circumstances. He wants to free us from the invisible chains of our soul, from those things that bind us but that no one else can see.
When we accept this freedom, the impossible becomes possible. Pain is transformed into peace and what seems to be a loss actually becomes a great victory.
Therefore, when facing challenges, rejections, or even moments of doubt, remember Christ is with you.
He has the power to transform lives, including yours, and to reach those you think are unreachable.
He went to the very end to rescue us and give us a new life.
May this freedom also be yours today and forever. Christ is worth any price.
When he enters our lives, he offers us something that goes far beyond what the world can give us.
The freedom we find in him. The peace that surpasses all understanding. The certainty that no matter what we face, God never abandons us in our trials.
All this is worth any sacrifice. And beloved brothers and sisters, I share with you today not only my testimony, but an invitation for you to experience this same freedom.
God never leaves us alone in battles. He walks with us through every difficult decision, every moment of doubt, and every trial.
Often we may feel as if we are facing storms alone. But the truth is that when we choose to follow Christ, he is with us, sustaining us and giving us strength.
God’s faithfulness is guaranteed, and his word never fails. Remember, I will never leave you.
I will never forsake you. Hebrews 13:5. This promise from God is real, and it applies to all areas of our lives.
I know what it’s like to make difficult decisions such as choosing integrity when the world offers tempting shortcuts or upholding biblical standards when social pressure seems overwhelming.
I know what it’s like to face family rejection because of faith. And I can assure you that although the path is difficult, the reward of being with Christ is incomparable.
If you haven’t yet experienced the love of Christ, I want to invite you to do so now.
This isn’t about rituals or religious traditions, but about recognizing your need for a savior.
Opening your heart to the transformation that only he can bring. Christ died on the cross for you to forgive your sins and offer you a new life.
He is waiting with open arms, ready to receive you. Pray with me now. Lord Jesus, I acknowledge that I need a savior.
I believe that you died on the cross for my sins and rose again, conquering death.
Today I receive you as my Lord and Savior. Forgive my sins and give me a new life in you.
Guide me by your Holy Spirit and help me to follow you faithfully, no matter the cost.
In your name I pray. Amen. You may be facing a difficult decision right now.
The temptation to abandon your principles to gain something from the world or the pressure to maintain your faith in an environment that doesn’t understand it.
But know this, God promises to be with you every step of the way. >> >> He will never leave you.
His faithfulness never fails. My story, for example, continues to unfold. 3 years after my escape, I managed to reestablish contact with Yamal, the man who helped me escape.
Today, he leads a small secret Bible study group inside the palace. God’s work continues even in the most unlikely places.
Furthermore, my mother, who received asylum in Switzerland, can now practice her faith openly. And even my father who remained steadfast in his Islamic faith throughout his life has begun to question the supernatural events he has witnessed.
The gospel which once seemed so distant is now touching his heart in unexpected ways.
The seed of the gospel once planted continues to grow no matter the cultural or political barriers.
This teaches me an immutable truth. Nothing can stop the transformative power of Christ. If your life like mine has been marked by challenges and persecution, or even if you have someone in your life who is being pressured because of their faith, share this testimony.
The gospel has the power to transform lives and give courage to those facing difficulties.
I am just one example that God can reach even the most closed hearts. Perhaps your story doesn’t involve royal palaces or visible angelic manifestations, but it is equally precious in God’s eyes.
Every act of obedience, every sacrifice for his truth, every moment of faithfulness under pressure is building a powerful testimony that God will use to reach others.
As Revelation 12:11 says, “And they overcame him by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony.
They did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death. May you be inspired by these words.
May the same God who transformed my life also transform yours for his glory. He can use you in ways you can’t even imagine.
When you choose to follow Christ, your life becomes part of something much bigger, something eternal.
Each of us with our unique story has the potential to be used by God to impact the world around us.
I pray that you may understand today the immense value of knowing Christ and that like me, you may experience the true freedom that only he offers.
Heavenly Father, I thank you for every person who is listening to or reading this testimony.
Strengthen those who suffer persecution for your sake. Encourage those who face rejection and doubt.
And awaken those who do not yet know you so that they may experience your transforming love.
In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.
