I led 12 Muslim women into a Christian crusade in Jakarta to expose their lies and defend our faith, ready to publicly humiliate the pastor and his followers.

But when I stood on that stage to denounce Jesus, my voice vanished and something impossible happened that would destroy everything I thought I knew about God.

And what occurred next in that crowded stadium changed not only my destiny but the lives of five other Muslim women forever.

My name is Amina Rashid. I am 32 years old. And on March 23rd, 2021, I led 12 women into a Christian evangelistic crusade in Jakarta, Indonesia with one purpose, to expose the false teachings and demonstrate the supremacy of Islam.

What happened next transformed my life in ways I could never have predicted. I grew up in the menting area of Jakarta.

Otto the neighborhood where mosques dominated every corner and the adhan rang out like clockwork throughout the day.

Islam was not simply our religion. It was our identity, our culture, our entire existence.

My father Hazan owned a textile shop near the Grand Istlal Mosque. His fingers were always stained with fabric dyes.

My mother Fatima managed our household of five daughters in our apartment overlooking Tamarind Street.

The sound of Quranic recitation filled our home from dawn until dusk. From my earliest memories, I understood one absolute fact.

Christians were misguided people who worshiped a man instead of God. They had corrupted the true message that Allah sent through prophet Issa.

They needed correction, not respect when Christian families moved into our neighborhood. While we Muslim women would speak loudly about Islamic truth whenever they passed by, not out of personal hatred, but because that is what faithful Muslim women did.

It was our duty, expected, necessary. The Christians never challenged us. They kept their heads lowered when walking past our gathering places.

Their silence felt like confirmation that Islam held the truth that Allah had granted us spiritual authority over these deceived people.

By age 23, I had become part of a women’s Islamic study group that met weekly at the Al Aar Mosque.

We studied not only Quran but strategies for defending Islam against Christian missionary efforts. We were not extremists planning violence.

We were educated activists who believed faithful Muslims must actively confront Christian expansion in our country.

My teacher was Ustaza Khadijah, a 55-year-old woman who wore the strictest hijab and spoke with unshakable conviction.

She taught us that Christians were attempting to convert Muslim youth through emotional manipulation and false miracles.

She said, “We had an obligation to publicly challenge their deceptions and protect our community.

Search your own soul right now. Have you ever been so certain of your righteousness that you never considered you might be completely wrong?”

That was me for my entire adult life. When I turned 29 in 2018, our group became more confrontational.

We began monitoring Christian events throughout Jakarta. We identified churches and crusades that were becoming too influential, attracting too many curious Muslims.

We would attend Christian gatherings to document their false teachings and sometimes disrupt their services by proclaiming Islamic truths.

We convinced ourselves we were soldiers in a spiritual battle. The Miracle Harvest Crusade at Galora Boon Carno Stadium became our primary target in March 2021.

This massive evangelistic event was attracting thousands of people nightly, even some from Muslim backgrounds who were questioning their faith.

Aza Khadijah told us this was dangerous. This was spiritual deception that demanded immediate exposure.

I recruited 11 other women, all between ages 25 and 38, all devoted to our mission.

We planned our action for Friday evening, March 23rd, when the crusade held its climactic healing service.

Our strategy was straightforward. One enter during the altar call, disrupt the manipulation, expose the pastor’s tricks, declare that only Allah deserves worship.

We carried no weapons or harmful objects. Just our courage, our conviction, and our absolute certainty that Allah would honor our boldness.

I had no comprehension that the God I thought I was defending was about to reveal himself in the most earthshattering way possible.

Ask yourself this question. What happens when religious pride encounters divine power? Friday evening, March the 23rd, 2021.

We entered Galora Bong Carno Stadium at exactly 8:15. I knew the healing portion would be starting at that time.

The stadium held approximately 12,000 people that night. Massive screens displayed the stage. Worship music in Bahasa, Indonesia filled the air.

Through the crowd, I could see families with infants, elderly couples holding canes, young people with raised hands.

They were singing about Jesus with tears streaming down their faces. Their devotion made me furious.

How dare they worship a dead prophet with such passion, such conviction in our Muslim majority nation?

I signal to my women. We moved as a group toward the front stage area.

12 Muslim women in hijabs pushed through the crowd shouting, “Lahilah Allah. There is no God but Allah.”

The worship music faltered. People turned to to stare at us. Their expressions showed confusion and concern.

Some volunteers moved toward us as if to escort us out, but we kept advancing.

The pastor on stage was a man named Andreas, about 60 years old, with silver hair and warm eyes.

He lowered his microphone and watched us approach. He did not look angry or afraid.

He looked almost expectant. “Sisters,” he said in perfect Indonesian, “welcome.” But please let us finish our service in peace and then I will gladly speak with you.

His calm response enraged me. I wanted confrontation. I wanted him to reveal his true manipulative nature, something that would justify our disruption.

Instead, he offered dialogue. I shouted back, “We do not need your permission to speak truth.

This Jesus you preach is just a prophet, not God. You deceive these people with lies and fake miracles.

My group fanned out near the stage. We continued proclaiming Islamic declarations. We challenged anyone claiming to be healed to prove their healing was real and not staged.

We demanded the pastor admit he was deceiving people for money and fame. Uh some of our women confronted individuals who had come forward for prayer, telling them they were being manipulated.

We wanted them exposed, embarrassed, revealed as frauds. One of my closest friends, Leila, grabbed a microphone from a worship leader.

She started challenging Christian doctrines. You say God became a man and died. This is blasphemy against Allah’s majesty.

You say Jesus is the way to heaven. Only Islam is the straight path. Where is your proof?

Why should anyone believe your corrupted scriptures? The Christians did something completely unexpected. They did not argue with us.

They did not insult Islam or try to physically remove us. Instead, they began praying for us, not against us, but for us, softly with compassion.

Some people in the crowd knelt where they stood. Others lifted their hands toward heaven.

The pastor himself closed his eyes and began praying words I could not fully hear.

Their response disturbed me more than anger would have. This was not the exposure I had planned.

They seemed genuinely peaceful. How could they maintain such peace while being publicly challenged in their own event?

I climbed the stairs to the stage where Pastor Andrea stood. I needed to make the ultimate statement.

I would denounce Jesus Christ directly from their own platform. The crowd of 12,000 people grew silent.

The massive screens now showed my face in hijab standing at the microphone. I expected to feel triumphant.

Instead, I felt strange, uncertain. That is when the words came out of my mouth that I never intended to say.

Have you ever experienced a moment when your own voice betrayed everything you believed? What?

I opened my mouth to declare that Jesus was merely a prophet and that Muhammad brought the final truth.

But nothing came out. Not a whisper, not a sound. My lips moved, but my voice had completely vanished.

I tried again and again. Silence. Total impossible silence. My throat worked. My mouth formed words, but no sound emerged.

I looked at Pastor Andreas in confusion and rising panic. He was watching me with tears in his eyes, not with satisfaction or judgment, with something that looked like recognition, like he had seen this before.

“Sister,” he said gently into his microphone, “God is speaking to you right now. Not through your voice, but through your silence.”

I shook my head violently. This could not be Allah. Allah would empower my voice, not steal it.

I tried one more time to speak against Jesus. That is when the heat came burning ye overwhelming hate that started in my chest and spread through my entire body.

It was not painful like fire. It was intense like standing in brilliant sunlight. The heat brought clarity.

Suddenly I understood with shocking certainty that I had been completely utterly wrong about Jesus Christ.

Not just mistaken in details but fundamentally wrong about who he was. With that understanding came shame.

Wave after wave of shame for every hateful word I had spoken about him. Every lie I had spread about Christians.

Every time I had mocked his sacrifice, the shame was crushing me. I fell to my knees on the stage, still unable to speak.

Tears poured down my face, soaking my hijab. My body shook with silent sobs. The 12,000 people in the stadium could see everything on the giant screens.

My women rushed toward the stage, too. They were shouting, asking what was happening. They tried to help me stand, but I could not move.

I could only kneel there, drowning in the realization of my arrogance and error. Then I saw him.

Jesus Christ appeared in front of me on that stage. Not a vision or imagination, but a presence so real and powerful that everything else faded away.

His eyes held infinite love, love so pure and complete that it made my heart feel like it would explode.

He had every right to be angry with me for the things I had said about him.

But his face showed only compassion. He spoke one sentence directly into my spirit, not with audible sound, but with power that penetrated every part of my being.

I died for you, Amina. I have always loved you. My voice suddenly returned with a gasp.

But instead of the declaration against Jesus I had planned, two different words came pouring out, words I could not control and did not want to stop.

Jesus is Lord, I cried out through my tears. The microphone carried my voice through the massive stadium.

Jesus is Lord. He is alive. He is real. I have been so wrong. Forgive me.

Forgive me. The stadium erupted. 12,000 Christians began praising God, shouting, crying, lifting their hands to heaven.

My disruption had turned into the most powerful testimony of the entire crusade. Pastor Andreas knelt beside me on the stage.

He was crying too. What do you want to do? He asked gently. I want to follow him, I said.

My voice was shaking. I want to follow Jesus. How do I follow Jesus? How do you explain surrendering to the God you came to denounce?

The next hour transformed everything. Yet, Pastor Andreas led me in a prayer of surrender right there on the stage in front of thousands of witnesses.

I confessed that Jesus Christ was Lord, that he died for my sins and rose from the dead, that I was giving him my entire life.

The Christians who I came to humiliate were now surrounding me with celebration, hugging me, weeping with joy, telling me they loved me and had been praying for people like me.

The pastor asked if any of my group wanted to respond to what they had witnessed.

Six of my 11 companions left the stadium immediately. They were angry, confused, perhaps frightened by what had happened, but five stayed.

And before that service ended, all five of them also surrendered their lives to Jesus Christ after watching my transformation on that stage.

I lost everything familiar when word spread about my conversion. To my father refused to see me.

He said I had brought unspeakable shame to our family. My mother wept and begged me to recant, to say I had been temporarily confused.

Aaza Khadija declared me an apostate and warned others to avoid me. I received threats.

In Indonesia, leaving Islam brings severe social consequences and sometimes physical danger. I had to leave my neighborhood and eventually Jakarta itself.

But I gained treasures beyond measure. I gained Jesus Christ, complete forgiveness for every sin I had committed against him and his people.

Peace that defies all logic, eternal security. I gained brothers and sisters in Christ who loved me despite what I had said and done.

I gained purpose serving the God who loved me enough to silence my voice so his voice could break through my pride.

Pastor Andreas and his wife became like parents to me during those difficult first months after my conversion.

They provided protection and taught me about my new faith. They risked their reputation in the Christian community to help the Muslim women who came to destroy their crusade.

Today, I work with a ministry reaching Muslim women with the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I have witnessed over 400 former Muslim women come to faith after hearing my testimony.

Each one reminds me that the same Jesus who took my voice can break through anyone’s hardness and transformed their life completely.

I still remember March the 23rd, 2021 as the day I died to my old life and was born into new life.

The Muslim woman who led 12 women to expose Christianity no longer exists. Or in her place stands a follower of Jesus Christ who would face any persecution rather than deny the one who saved her.

Search your own heart at this moment. Jesus Christ never changes. If he could love and save someone like me, someone who climbed onto a stage to denounce him publicly, then he can absolutely love and save you regardless of what you have done or what you believe right now.

The same Jesus who silenced my voice and spoke truth to my heart is speaking to you right now through this testimony.

He is offering you the same unconditional love, the same complete forgiveness, the same eternal life that changed everything for me.

Will you let him quiet your arguments and show you who he really