THE PILOT WHO BURNED BIBLES
PART ONE: THE DEVOUT PILOT
The cockpit of Emirates Flight EK19 hummed with the gentle rhythm of powerful engines cutting through the night sky. Captain Amir Al-Sayed sat in the left seat, his hands resting lightly on the controls, his eyes scanning the instrument panel with the practiced ease of a man who had spent more than a decade commanding some of the most advanced aircraft in the world. The lights of Dubai glittered far below, a carpet of gold and white stretching to the horizon.
Amir smiled to himself. He loved this—the feeling of being suspended between earth and heaven, the responsibility of guiding hundreds of souls through the vast emptiness of the sky. It was the closest thing to divinity a man could experience. It was also, he often thought, the best way to serve Allah.
“Captain, we’re cleared for descent into Jeddah,” his co-pilot said, breaking his reverie. “Estimated arrival in forty-seven minutes.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” Amir replied, his voice calm and professional. “Begin descent checklist.”
Sarah Mitchell was a capable young woman from England, one of the few female co-pilots in the airline. Amir had initially been uncomfortable working with a woman in the cockpit—it felt somehow improper, against the traditions of his culture. But Sarah had proven herself competent and professional, and over the years, he had grown to respect her.
Still, he prayed silently that she would one day find the truth of Islam.
As the plane began its descent, Amir reached into his flight bag and pulled out a small, worn prayer rug. It was time for the Maghrib prayer, and he would not miss it. He carefully unrolled the rug in the small space behind the cockpit, facing Mecca, and began his ritual prostrations.
Sarah watched him with quiet curiosity. She had seen him do this hundreds of times, but it never ceased to fascinate her—the devotion, the discipline, the complete surrender to a God she didn’t really understand.
“Your faith is strong, Captain,” she said softly as he finished his prayers and returned to his seat.
Amir smiled. “Faith is everything, Sarah. Without faith, we are nothing but drifting ships on a dark sea. Islam gives me purpose, direction, and certainty. I know who I am. I know what I believe. I know what I must do.”
“And what must you do?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“Defend the faith,” Amir said simply. “Protect it from those who would corrupt it. Stand firm against the enemies of Allah. It is the highest honor a man can achieve.”
Sarah nodded slowly. She didn’t fully understand, but she appreciated his conviction.
—
### PART TWO: THE RIGHTEOUS FIRE
Amir had been flying for Emirates for twelve years, and in that time, he had seen almost everything. He had weathered storms that would have terrified lesser pilots, navigated through political turmoil in dozens of countries, and dealt with passengers from every culture and religion on earth. He had always maintained his professionalism, his calm, and his faith.
But nothing had prepared him for what he found in the crew rest area at Atlanta airport on March 22nd, 2016.
The layover was supposed to be routine—a few hours of rest before the return flight to Dubai. Amir had eaten a simple meal in the crew dining area and was heading to the rest room to perform his Isha prayer when he saw them.
Three Bibles, lying on the table near the window.
They were cheap paperbacks with plain covers, clearly meant to be given away. Someone had left them there, perhaps intentionally, perhaps carelessly. To Amir, it didn’t matter. They were an affront to everything he believed.
His blood boiled. His hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened with rage.
“What is this?” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “Christian propaganda. Deliberately placed where Muslim crew members would see them. An attack on our faith. An insult to Allah.”
He looked around the room. He was alone. The other crew members were in their rooms, resting. No one would see him. No one would stop him.
The righteous anger burned in his chest like a fire. He remembered his father’s teachings—that the enemies of Islam would stop at nothing to corrupt the faithful. That Christians were deceivers, spreading lies to lead Muslims astray. That it was the duty of every true believer to confront falsehood wherever it appeared.
“This is wrong,” he said aloud, his voice shaking with fury. “This is an attack. I will not allow it. I will defend the faith. I will serve Allah.”
He grabbed the Bibles and carried them out of the rest area, his steps quick and purposeful. He walked through the terminal, past shops and gates, past travelers who barely noticed him, until he reached a maintenance area behind the terminal. There was a dumpster there, filled with trash and debris. It was perfect.
Amir looked at the Bibles in his hands. The covers were plain and unassuming. He opened one and saw the words of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Lies, he thought. Blasphemy. How dare these Christians claim that a man was God? How dare they claim that Allah had a son? It was the greatest sin imaginable, the ultimate insult to the one true God.
“Allahu Akbar,” he whispered, and he threw the Bibles into the dumpster.
He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it to life. The small flame danced in the darkness, casting shadows across his face. He looked at it for a moment, feeling the heat against his skin.
“I am doing this for You, Allah,” he said. “I am defending Your honor. I am destroying the lies of the Christians. Accept my sacrifice. Accept my devotion.”
He touched the flame to the pages, and the fire caught quickly. The paper burned with a bright orange glow, the smoke rising into the night sky. Amir watched as the Bibles turned to ash, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He had done it. He had stood up for his faith. He had struck a blow against the enemies of Islam.
He didn’t notice the security camera above him.
He didn’t notice the maintenance worker who saw him from a distance.
He didn’t notice the small, almost imperceptible figure standing in the shadows—a woman in white, watching him with eyes full of sorrow and love.
But she was there.
She was always there.
—
### PART THREE: THE PERFECT STORM
Three days later, Amir sat in the captain’s seat of Emirates Flight EK27, preparing for takeoff. The flight was fully booked—247 passengers and 14 crew members, all depending on him to get them safely from Dubai to Atlanta. It was a route he had flown dozens of times, one he knew like the back of his hand.
“Captain, we’re clear for takeoff,” Sarah said, her voice steady and professional.
Amir nodded. “Cleared for takeoff. Let’s go.”
The plane roared down the runway, lifting off with the smooth power of the most advanced aviation technology in the world. Amir guided the aircraft into the sky, his hands sure and confident. He looked out the window at the lights of Dubai fading below and offered a silent prayer to Allah for a safe journey.
The first few hours were uneventful. The passengers slept. The crew served meals. The autopilot hummed along, doing most of the work. Amir settled back in his seat, reviewing the flight plan and checking the weather reports. Everything was normal. Everything was perfect.
Then, as they approached American airspace, everything changed.
The first warning came without warning. The navigation systems flickered and died, leaving them without GPS or any other form of satellite guidance. The screens went dark, replaced by incomprehensible static.
“What the—” Amir began, but before he could finish, the autopilot disengaged with a loud clang. The plane lurched, and he grabbed the controls, fighting to keep the aircraft steady.
“Captain, what’s happening?” Sarah’s voice was filled with fear.
“I don’t know,” Amir admitted, his heart pounding. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
The radio crackled with static. He tried to contact air traffic control, but every time he spoke, the signal failed. He could hear the controllers on the other end, but they couldn’t hear him. It was as if something was blocking his transmission, jamming the signal with impossible precision.
“Mayday! Mayday!” he shouted into the microphone. “This is Emirates Flight EK27, we are experiencing catastrophic technical failures, we need immediate assistance!”
Silence. Nothing but static.
The instruments on the panel began to give contradictory readings. The altimeter said they were at 35,000 feet, but the radar showed them at 10,000. The fuel gauge indicated nearly empty, but the reserve gauge showed a full tank. The compass spun wildly, never settling on a direction.
“Sarah, check the fuel,” Amir commanded, his voice tense. “We’re burning through it too fast. Something’s wrong.”
Sarah checked the readings, her hands trembling. “Captain, according to our instruments, we have less than twenty minutes of fuel left. But that’s impossible. We should have four hours of fuel.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Amir muttered. “Not today.”
He tried to maintain control of the aircraft, but it felt like the plane was fighting him. Every adjustment he made was met with resistance. Every command he gave was countered by some unseen force. The plane was descending now, falling toward the Atlantic Ocean at an alarming rate.
“Sir, we’re going to crash!” Sarah screamed. “We’re going to die!”
Amir looked at her, his face pale with fear. He thought of his wife and children back in Dubai. He thought of his parents, who had raised him to be a good Muslim. He thought of all the prayers he had prayed, all the fasting he had done, all the sacrifices he had made for his faith.
“Allahu Akbar,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “Allahu Akbar. If this is my end, then let it come. I trust in You, Allah. I trust in You.”
But the silence on the radio was deafening.
The storms appeared on the radar without warning—massive, violent thunderheads that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They were directly in the plane’s path, and there was no way to avoid them. Lightning flashed, and the aircraft shuddered violently.
“Captain, we’re going to die!” Sarah wailed.
Amir closed his eyes, waiting for the end. He had lived a good life. He had been faithful to his religion. He had defended his faith. If Allah willed it, he would die a martyr. It was the highest honor a Muslim could achieve.
And then he heard the voice.
“Amir, descend now. Turn left, heading 180. Go to 8,000 feet.”
The voice was calm and clear, like a bell ringing in the chaos. It was a woman’s voice, gentle yet commanding, filled with love and authority. It was not Sarah’s voice. It was not any voice he had ever heard before.
But it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.
“Who is that?” he demanded, looking around the cockpit. “Who is speaking?”
Sarah stared at him, her face pale. “I didn’t hear anything, Captain. What are you talking about?”
The voice came again, even more insistent this time. “Amir, obey me. Descend now. Turn left, heading 180. Go to 8,000 feet. Trust me.”
Against all his training, against all logic and reason, Amir obeyed. He pulled back on the controls, descending the plane with a sharp dive. He turned left, following the heading the voice had given him. He brought the plane down to 8,000 feet.
The moment he did, the storms vanished. The instrument panel stabilized. The fuel gauge returned to its proper reading. The radio crackled back to life, and he heard the voice of air traffic control.
“Emirates Flight EK27, we have you on radar. You are cleared for emergency landing at Atlanta. What is your status?”
Amir stared at the panel in disbelief. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t understand what just happened.”
But then he saw it. Standing beside his seat, radiant and beautiful, was a figure in white. The figure was a man—a man of such overwhelming beauty that Amir could not look away. His eyes were like fire, full of love and forgiveness. His face was gentle, and his smile was filled with peace.
“You are Jesus,” Amir whispered, the words falling from his lips like a confession. “You are Isa. You are the Messiah.”
The figure nodded, and Amir felt a rush of emotion that he could not contain. Tears poured down his face. His body shook with sobs. He had never wept like this in his entire life—not when his mother died, not when he lost his first child, not when he faced the greatest challenges of his career.
“I burned Your Word,” he wept. “I burned Your Bibles. I thought I was serving Allah. I thought I was defending the faith. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I am sorry. Please forgive me.”
Jesus reached out and placed a hand on Amir’s shoulder. The touch was light, but it carried the weight of eternity. “I forgive you, Amir,” he said. “I have always forgiven you. I love you. I have always loved you. You just did not know me.”
And then, in a flash of light, the figure was gone.
Amir sat in stunned silence, his hands trembling on the controls. Sarah was staring at him, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.
“Captain, what just happened?” she asked. “Who were you talking to?”
Amir took a deep breath. “I was talking to Jesus,” he said. “And he saved our lives.”
—
### PART FOUR: THE COCKPIT CONFESSION
The landing at Atlanta was the smoothest of Amir’s entire career. The plane touched down with a gentle bump, the reverse thrusters engaging, the brakes slowing the aircraft to a safe halt. The passengers applauded, unaware of how close they had come to death.
Amir sat in the cockpit, still trembling from the experience. He had seen something that could not be explained—something that defied all the laws of physics and all the doctrines of his faith. He had heard a voice that was not human, seen a figure that was not mortal, felt a love that was beyond understanding.
“Captain,” Sarah said softly, “are you alright? You look pale.”
Amir shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if I’m alright,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be alright again. Everything I believed… everything I thought I knew… it’s all changed.”
Sarah was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe you should take some time off. Talk to someone. Process what happened.”
Amir nodded. “Yes. I think I need to do that.”
He walked through the terminal in a daze, barely noticing the people around him. He was still wearing his uniform, still carrying his flight bag. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
He found a quiet bench near the gate and sat down, burying his face in his hands. He tried to pray—the Muslim prayer he had recited thousands of times—but the words wouldn’t come. He tried to recite the Quran, but the verses felt hollow and empty.
All he could see was that face. All he could hear was that voice. All he could feel was that love.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, breaking through his reverie. “Are you okay? Can I help you?”
Amir looked up. A man was standing in front of him—an older man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. He was wearing a simple polo shirt and khaki pants, and he was holding a small book in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” Amir said, wiping his eyes. “I’m just… I’m going through something. I don’t know how to explain it.”
The man smiled. “Sometimes we need help to make sense of things. My name is Pastor David. I’m a chaplain here at the airport. I’ve seen a lot of people in distress. Would you like to talk?”
Amir hesitated. He was a Muslim. He wasn’t supposed to talk to a Christian pastor. But something about this man’s presence was comforting.
“I… yes,” he said finally. “I think I would.”
Pastor David sat down beside him. “Tell me what happened.”
Amir took a deep breath and began to speak. He told the pastor about his life—about his devout upbringing, his years of faithful practice, his career as a pilot. He told him about the Bibles he had burned, the anger and righteousness he had felt. And he told him about the flight, the impossible technical failures, the voice that had guided him to safety, and the figure in white who had appeared beside his seat.
“I saw Jesus,” Amir said, his voice trembling. “I saw Isa. He looked at me with such love. He forgave me. He told me he loved me. And I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve spent my entire life believing that Jesus was just a prophet, that he wasn’t the Son of God. But now I’ve seen him. I’ve experienced him. And I don’t know how to go back to what I believed before.”
Pastor David listened carefully, nodding from time to time. When Amir finished, he was silent for a long moment.
“Amir,” he said finally, “I can’t explain everything that happened to you. I’m not a pilot, and I don’t understand the technical aspects of what you experienced. But I can tell you this: the Jesus you saw is the same Jesus I have followed for forty years. He is the same Jesus who died on the cross for our sins and rose again on the third day. He is the same Jesus who forgives sinners and gives new life to all who believe in him.”
Amir looked at the pastor, his eyes red and swollen. “But I burned his Bibles,” he said. “I tried to destroy his Word. How can he forgive something like that?”
Pastor David smiled. “Because he loves you, Amir. He loves you more than you can possibly imagine. He died for you—not because you were good, but because he is good. He forgives you not because you deserve it, but because he is merciful.”
He held out the small book in his hands. It was a Bible. “Take this,” he said. “Read it. Discover the Jesus who saved your life. He is waiting for you.”
Amir took the Bible, his hands shaking. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know if I can read this. I don’t know if I can accept it. But I will try.”
—
### PART FIVE: THE HOTEL ROOM REVELATION
Amir spent the next three days in his hotel room in Atlanta, barely leaving except for meals. He sat on the bed, the Bible open in his lap, reading page after page with desperate intensity.
The words were familiar in some ways—he had heard many of these stories before, from the Quran. But they were also completely different. The Jesus of the Gospels was not just a prophet. He was a healer, a teacher, a man who forgave sinners and offered eternal life. He was the Son of God, sent to save the world.
Amir read the Gospel of Matthew, then Mark, then Luke. He wept over the crucifixion, moved by the suffering of a man who had done nothing wrong. He rejoiced over the resurrection, amazed by the power of a God who could conquer death itself.
And he read the Gospel of John.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Amir read those words over and over again, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He remembered the words of the voice on the plane: “I love you. I have always loved you. You just did not know me.”
And suddenly, it all made sense.
All his years of praying, fasting, and striving—they had been attempts to earn God’s favor. He had never understood that God’s favor was already available, freely given, through faith in Jesus Christ. He had never understood that God loved him not because of what he did, but because of who God was.
On the third night, Amir fell to his knees beside the bed, his body wracked with sobs. He opened his heart to the God he had once denied and asked for forgiveness.
“Jesus,” he prayed, his voice broken, “I believe you are the Son of God. I believe you died for my sins and rose again. I believe you are the only way to salvation. Please forgive me for everything I have done. Please save me. Please make me new.”
A warmth filled the room—the same warmth he had felt in the cockpit. The same fragrance of roses filled the air. And Amir knew, with absolute certainty, that his prayer had been answered.
He was forgiven. He was loved. He was saved.
—
### PART SIX: THE COST OF FOLLOWING
When Amir returned to Dubai, he knew his life would never be the same. He couldn’t hide what had happened—the change in his heart was too profound, too complete. He had to tell the truth, even if it cost him everything.
He called his family together first—his wife, Aisha, his two children, and his elderly father. They gathered in the living room of their home, their faces filled with curiosity and concern.
“I have something to tell you,” Amir began, his voice trembling. “Something that will be hard to hear.”
His father, the imam, looked at him with wary eyes. “What is it, my son? Are you in trouble?”
Amir took a deep breath. “I have become a Christian,” he said. “I have accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I believe he died for my sins and rose again. I can no longer be a Muslim.”
The room erupted. His wife screamed. His father rose from his seat, his face contorted with rage. His children wept in confusion.
“You have betrayed your family!” his father shouted. “You have betrayed your faith! You have dishonored everything I taught you! You are no longer my son!”
“Father, please listen,” Amir begged. “I can explain. Jesus appeared to me. He saved my life. He showed me his love. I couldn’t deny him. I can’t deny him. He is the truth.”
“Get out!” his father roared. “Get out of this house! You are dead to me!”
Amir looked at his wife, his eyes filled with tears. “Aisha, please. I love you. I love our children. But I can’t deny what I have experienced. Jesus is real. He is alive. And he loves you too.”
Aisha shook her head, her face pale with shock. “I can’t be married to a Christian,” she said. “It’s not allowed. You know this.”
Amir nodded, his heart breaking. “I understand. I will leave.”
He gathered a few belongings and walked out of the house—the house where he had raised his children, the house where he had prayed to Allah for so many years. He looked back one last time and saw his wife and children at the window, tears streaming down their faces.
The cost of following Jesus was higher than he had ever imagined.
—
### PART SEVEN: THE DEATH THREATS
The news of Amir’s conversion spread quickly through the community. Social media exploded with outrage. His face was plastered across websites, his name dragged through the mud. He was branded an apostate, a traitor, a man who had betrayed his family, his faith, and his country.
The death threats began within days.
“You will burn in hell for your apostasy,” one message read. “We will send you to meet your Christian god yourself.”
“Your blood is halal,” another read. “We will spill it in the streets. There is no place for traitors in the ummah.”
Amir went into hiding, moving from place to place, never staying in one location for more than a few nights. He knew the danger was real. In many countries, apostasy from Islam was punishable by death. Even in relatively moderate Dubai, the threat was tangible.
He was forced to leave his job. Emirates Airlines let him go, citing “irreconcilable differences” and “concerns about his mental stability.” His fellow pilots, once his friends, now looked at him with suspicion and contempt.
The isolation was crushing. Amir had built his life around his career, his family, and his community. Now all of that was gone. He was completely alone.
But he was not abandoned.
One night, as he sat in a small hotel room in a nondescript part of the city, his phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, and he almost didn’t answer. But something prompted him to pick up.
“Amir Al-Sayed?” a woman’s voice said. “My name is Hannah. I’m a Christian living in Dubai. I heard about what happened to you. I want to help.”
Amir’s eyes filled with tears. “You know about me? You’re not afraid to help me?”
“I’m not afraid,” Hannah said. “I know the risks. But Jesus commands us to love one another. You are my brother in Christ, and I won’t abandon you.”
Over the following weeks, Hannah connected Amir with a network of underground Christians in Dubai. They met in secret, in homes and basements, sharing their testimonies and supporting one another. The community was small and hidden, but it was real. It was family.
—
### PART EIGHT: THE NEW FLIGHT PLAN
A year passed. Amir was forced to leave the United Arab Emirates, his life still in danger. He made his way to the United States, where he was granted asylum based on religious persecution.
He settled in Atlanta—the city where he had burned the Bibles, the city where he had been saved. It felt like a poetic justice, a full-circle moment of grace.
A small church in the suburbs welcomed him. They didn’t judge him for his past. They didn’t care that he had once been a Muslim, a Bible-burner, an enemy of everything they believed. They saw him as a brother, a fellow sinner saved by grace.
“I burned Bibles,” he confessed to the congregation one Sunday. “I tried to destroy the Word of God. I thought I was serving God, but I was fighting against him. And yet, he saved me. He forgave me. He changed my life.”
The congregation applauded, their eyes shining with tears.
Amir began to rebuild his life. He was hired by a small cargo airline, flying freight across the country. It wasn’t the glamorous career he had once had, but it was honest work. It was a second chance.
And he began to share his testimony, speaking at churches and conferences across the United States. The story of the Saudi pilot who burned Bibles and was saved by Jesus resonated with people everywhere.
“Muslims are not our enemies,” he would say. “They are lost. They are searching for truth, just as I was. But they don’t know Jesus. They don’t understand his love. We need to reach out to them with compassion, not hatred.”
His message was controversial. Some Christians didn’t like hearing that Muslims should be treated with compassion. But Amir didn’t care. He had been a Muslim. He knew the love of Jesus could save anyone.
—
### PART NINE: THE RETURN TO THE DESERT
Five years after his conversion, Amir made a pilgrimage back to Saudi Arabia. It was dangerous—he could have been arrested, or worse, if the wrong people found out. But he felt called to go. He had to share his testimony with his own people.
He traveled in secret, avoiding the major cities. He stayed with underground Christians, meeting in hidden homes, speaking to small groups of believers.
One night, he was brought to a house in a small village outside Jeddah. The room was packed with people—Muslims who had come to hear the story of the pilot who burned Bibles and found Jesus.
Amir stood before them, his hands shaking. He remembered his father, who had disowned him. He remembered his wife, who had divorced him. He remembered his children, who had grown up without him.
“My name is Amir Al-Sayed,” he began. “I was born a Muslim. I was raised to defend Islam. I memorized the Quran. I prayed five times a day. I fasted. I gave charity. I believed with all my heart that Islam was the only true path.”
He paused, the tears welling up in his eyes.
“I burned Bibles,” he continued. “I tried to destroy the Word of God. I thought I was serving Allah. But I was wrong. I was fighting against the truth.”
The room was silent.
“Three days after I burned those Bibles, Jesus saved my life. He saved my plane. He saved 261 passengers and crew. And he saved my soul.”
He opened his Bible and read from John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
“I was a Bible-burner,” he said. “I was the enemy of God. But Jesus loved me. He died for me. He saved me. And he can save you too.”
The room erupted. Some people wept. Others shouted in anger. A few of them fell to their knees, asking Jesus to save them.
Amir stayed for three days, baptizing more than a dozen new believers in a secret location. He left before dawn on the fourth day, disappearing back into the shadows.
But he knew the seeds had been planted.
—
### PART TEN: THE LEGACY OF GRACE
Today, Amir lives in the United States with a new wife, a new family, and a new purpose. His children from his first marriage still do not speak to him. His father died without reconciliation. The cost of following Jesus has been immeasurable.
But he has no regrets.
He flies for a small airline, transporting cargo across the country. It’s not glamorous. It’s not the life of a prestigious Emirates captain. But it is his life, and Jesus is in it.
He carries Bibles on every flight, not to burn them, but to give them away. He shares his testimony with crew members from all backgrounds. Many Muslims have come to faith after hearing how the man who burned Bibles was saved by the very Jesus whose words he tried to destroy.
“I was once a Bible-burner,” he says. “Now I am a Bible-giver. I was once the enemy of God. Now I am his son. I was once condemned to spiritual death. Now I have eternal life.”
He looks out the window of his small plane, watching the clouds float by. He thinks about that day in Atlanta, the Bibles burning in the dumpster, the righteous anger in his heart. And he thinks about the voice that saved him, the figure that appeared beside his seat, the love that changed everything.
“Jesus did not just save my plane that day,” he says. “He saved my soul. And he can save yours too.”
—
### EPILOGUE: THE PILOT’S PRAYER
Amir stands in the cockpit of his small cargo plane, preparing for takeoff. The sun is rising over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It’s beautiful. It’s a gift from God.
He looks at the Bible on the seat beside him—the Bible he will give to someone today, someone who needs to hear about the love of Jesus.
He folds his hands and bows his head.
“Father,” he prays, “thank you for saving me. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for giving me a new life. I was a sinner. I was your enemy. But you loved me. You died for me. You saved me.”
“Lord, I pray for my family, who still don’t believe. I pray for my children, who don’t know you. I pray for my father, who died without accepting you. Please have mercy on them. Please save them.”
“I pray for the Muslims I will meet today. I pray that you would open their eyes, open their hearts. I pray that they would see you as I have seen you—as the Savior, the Healer, the Son of God.”
“I pray for the people who want to kill me. I pray that you would forgive them. I pray that you would save them. I pray that they would know your love, just as I know it.”
“In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.”
He opens his eyes and looks at the runway ahead. The engines hum with power. The instruments glow with information. The sky is open and waiting.
Amir smiles. He is a Bible-burner who became a Bible-giver. He is a Muslim who became a Christian. He is a sinner who became a saint.
He is the pilot who was saved by Jesus.
And he will spend the rest of his life telling everyone about it.
