JESUS SHOWED ME THE TRUTH OF MUSLIMS.
My name is Nasir. I'm 34 years old and I was born a Saudi prince in 1990.
I had everything money could buy.
But on September 12th, 2018, my father demanded that I share my wife with him.
That day destroyed my perfect life and led me straight to Jesus Christ.
I was born into a world that most people can only dream of.
The royal palace in Riyadh wasn't just my home.
It was my entire universe.
Gold-plated everything.
Servants who anticipated my every need before l even knew I had one and wealth that seemed endless.
My childhood was spent in marble halls that echoed with the sound of my footsteps, surrounded by luxury that I thought was normal.
Every morning I would wake up in silk sheets, eat breakfast prepared by the finest chefs in the kingdom, and receive private tutoring from scholars who had devoted their lives to educating royalty.
But with all that privilege came expectations that weighed heavier than any crown.
From the moment I could walk, I was groomed to be the perfect Islamic prince.
Five prayers a day were not negotiable.
Memorizing the Qur'an was not optional.
Understanding Sharia law was essential for my future role as a leader.
My father made it clear that I represented not just our family but the entire kingdom and our faith.
Every action I took reflected on the royal bloodline and failure was not an option.
The religious obligations shaped every aspect of my life.
I spent hours each day studying Islamic jurisprudence with the most respected imams in Saudi Arabia.
They taught me that absolute obedience to Allah and to earthly authority were one and the same.
My father as king was Allah's representative on earth in our kingdom.
To question him was to question God himself.
This belief system became so deeply embedded in my mind that I never even considered challenging it until much later.
When I turned 25, my father informed me that it was time for me to marry.
In our culture, arranged marriages were the norm, especially for royalty.
Political alliances, tribal connections, and family honor all played a role in selecting a suitable bride.
I had no expectations of love or romance.
Marriage was a duty, a responsibility to produce heirs and strengthen our family's position.
But when I first saw my bride, everything changed.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, yes, but there was something more. Intelligence sparkled in her eyes, and when she spoke, I heard wisdom beyond her years.
Our wedding was a grand affair with thousands of guests, international dignitaries, and ceremonies that lasted for days.
Yet, the moment that mattered most to me was when we were finally alone together for the first time.
What started as an arranged marriage quickly blossomed into genuine love.
My wife was not just beautiful on the outside.
She possessed a heart that was pure and kind.
She cared for the servants with genuine compassion.
She asked thoughtful questions about governance and showed real concern for our people's welfare.
In private moments away from the formal protocols of court life, we would talk for hours about our dreams, our hopes for the future, and the kind of rulers we wanted to become.
She made the cold marble palace feel like a warm home.
When she laughed, the sound filled rooms that had always felt empty despite their grandeur.
She had a way of making even the most mundane royal duties feel meaningful because we were doing them together.
For three (3) years, we built a life that felt perfect.
We talked about the children we would have, the reforms we might implement when I became king, and the legacy we wanted to leave behind.
But I was naive about my father's true character.
As king, he projected an image of piety and justice to the world.
He was seen as a defender of Islamic values and a wise leader.
Foreign diplomats respected him and our people feared and revered him.
I had grown up seeing only the version of him that he wanted me to had grown up seeing only the version of him that he wanted me to see.
The stern but supposedly loving father who was preparing me for leadership.
Over the years, however, I began to notice things that disturbed me.
The way female servants would quickly look away when he entered a room. hush conversations that stopped abruptly when l appeared.
My mother's resigned sadness that she tried to hide behind her royal composure.
I learned that my father had taken multiple wives and concubines over the years, often against their will, always justified by his interpretation of Islamic law and his absolute authority as king.
There were stories, whispers really, about other family members who had disappeared or been silenced when they opposed him.
Cousins who had questioned his decisions and were suddenly sent away on permanent diplomatic missions.
An uncle who had spoken against one of his policies and died in a mysterious accident.
I told myself these were just palace rumors. the kind of gossip that swirls around any center of power.
But deep down, I was beginning to understand that my father was not the man I thought he was.
He was not drven by faith or justice or love for his family.
He was driven by an insatiable appetite for control and power.
He saw people, even his own children, as positions to be used for his benefit.
The Islamic principles he claimed to uphold were simply tools he wielded to justify his desires.
Ask yourself this question.
What would you do if you discovered that everything you believed about someone you loved and respected was a lie?
That realization was slowly dawning on me. But I was not prepared for how far my father's corruption would reach into my own life.
I thought that my position as his son and heir would protect my wife and me from his cruelty.
I believed that the happiness we had found together was safe from his interference.
I was wrong about everything.
September 12th, 2018 started like any other day in the palace.
I performed my morning prayers, had breakfast with my wife, and reviewed some documents related to a new infrastructure project.
Around noon, a servant approached me with a message that my father wanted to see me in his private chambers immediately.
Such summons were not unusual, so I thought nothing of it, as I made my way through the familiar quarters to his wing of the palace.
When l entered his chambers, my father was seated behind his massive desk, his expression unreadable.
He dismissed his advisers with a wave of his hand, and we were alone.
The silence stretched uncomfortably long before he finally spoke.
His words hit me like a physical blow.
He told me in the same tone he might use to discuss the weather that he had decided my wife would become his concubine.
She was to move to his quarters within the week and serve him as he saw fit.
I stood there in complete shock, unable to process what I had just heard.
8:35 This was my father, my king, the man Ihad respected and obeyed my entire life.
8:42 Surely he was testing me somehow or speaking hypothetically about some political situation. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw only cold determination. 8:54 He was completely serious. When I tried to protest to remind him that she was my wife, he cut me off with a harsh laugh.
He quoted verses from the Quran about a father's authority over his household and reminded me that as king his word was law.
He told me that Islamic jurisprudence gave him the right to do whatever he deemed necessary for the good of the kingdom and that my personal feelings were irrelevant.
"My wife was beautiful and intelligent," he said, and he wanted her for himself.
The room felt like it was spinning around me.
I wanted to scream, to strike him, to demand justice, but I knew that any sign of rebellion would result in immediate imprisonment or death.
In Saudi Arabia. challenging the king's right death. In Saudi Arabia, challenging the king's authority is treason, and being his son would not protect me from the consequences.
I had seen what happened to others who opposed him. they simply disappeared.
l asked him how he could justify such an action under Islamic law, grasping for any argument that might change his mind.
He smiled coldly and explained that since he was the ultimate religious authority in our kingdom, his interpretation of Islamic law was final.
He cited historical examples of caiffs and kings who had taken wives from their subordinates when it served their purposes.
He reminded me that the prophet Muhammad himself had married the divorced wife of his adopted son, proving that family relationships could be rearranged when Allah willed it.
When I left his chambers, I felt like I was walking through a nightmare.
How could tell my wife that the man who was supposed to protect our family was about to destroy
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