Saudi Princess Faces Execution for Reading Bible, Then JESUS DID THIS
My name is Princess Amira. I'm 32 years old.
And on September 12th, 2019, I was supposed to die.
I was sentenced to execution for reading the Bible in Saudi Arabia.
But Jesus had other plans for my life.
This is my testimony of supernatural deliverance.
I was born into the Saudi royal family in 1992, the third daughter of Prince Abdullah bin Rashid.
From my first breath, I was surrounded by unimaginable wealth and privilege.
Our palace in Riyadh sprawled across 50 acres with marble floors imported from Italy and chandeliers that cost more than most people earn in a lifetime.
I had my own wing with 12 rooms, each decorated in the finest silks and gold.
Servants attended to my every need, from dressing me each morning to preparing my meals on dishes made of pure silver.
But let me tell you something about golden cages. They are still cages.
Despite having everything money could buy, my soul was starving.
I owned hundreds of designer gowns, drove luxury cars that most people only see in magazines, and traveled on private jets to the most exotic destinations.
Yet every night I would stare at the ornate ceiling of my bedroom, wondering if this was all there was to life.
The emptiness inside me grew larger with each passing year.
My religious education began when I turned 5 years old.
Every morning at dawn, my Islamic tutor would arrive to teach me Quran memorization.
I spent hours reciting verses in Arabic, perfecting my pronunciation and inonation.
By age 12, I had memorized over half of the Quran.
The five daily prayers were enforced with military precision.
My tutors would monitor me constantly, ensuring I performed every ritual perfectly.
From the ablutions to the prostrations, I performed all the rituals flawlessly, but felt absolutely nothing inside.
The words felt empty, like reciting a shopping list.
During prayer time, while my body went throughthe motions, my mind wandered to questions that frightened me.
Why did I feel so disconnected from Allah?
Why did the prayers feel like meaningless repetition?
Why was I forbidden to question anything about our faith?
The religious police monitored even our royal family.
They would make surprise visits to ensure we were maintaining proper Islamic conduct.
I witnessed public executions in the town square, watching as people were beheaded for crimes like adultery and apostasy.
Thesescenes disturbed me deeply.
But I was taught that questioning such punishments was itself a sin.
Women in our kingdom had fewer rights than the horses in our stables.
And yet, I was told this was God's perfect design.
As I grew older, the pressure to marry intensified.
My parents arranged meetings with various princes and wealthy men, discussing my future as if I were a business transaction.
I felt like a beautiful ornament, valuable for my bloodline and appearance, but worthless as a human being with thoughts and dreams.
The suitors looked at me the way men examine horses at an auction, calculating my worth based on my breeding potential.
Ask yourself this question. Have you ever felt completely alone while surrounded by people?
That was my reality every single day.
I had everything the world considered valuable.
Yet I felt spiritually bankrupt.
The longing for authentic connection, for real purpose, for genuine love grew stronger each day.
I was drowning in luxury while my soul cried out for something real, something true, something that could fill the aching void inside my heart.
In March, 2018, my father invited me to accompany him on a diplomatic mission to London .
This was unusual as women in our family rarely traveled on official business, but he needed a female presence for meetings with British dignitaries wives.
I was 26 years old and had never been alone in a foreign country without supervision.
The flight to London felt like traveling to another planet.
We stayed at the Savoy Hotel and for the first time in my life, I had my own room with no servants, no guards, no one watching my every move.
The silence was both terrifying and exhilarating.
That evening, after my father retired to his suite, I found myself completely alone.
I wandered around the elegant room, touching the furniture, opening drawers, experiencing a freedom I had never known.
I opened the nightstand drawer, looking for hotel stationery.
And there it was, a small black book with gold lettering that read, "Holy Bible."
My heart pounded as I picked it up, as if I were holding a dangerous explosive.
In Saudi Arabia, possessing a Bible was a serious crime, punishable by imprisonment and possibly death.
Yet something drew me to this forbidden book like a magnet.
My hands trembled as I opened to a random page.
The words, "In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God," seemed to leap off the page and pierce through my heart like lightning.
I had never read anything like this before.
The language was so different from the Quran, so personal and intimate.
It spoke of love rather than fear, of grace rather than punishment.
I spent the entire night reading, unable to put the book down.
When I reached the stories of Jesus healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and treating women with dignity and respect, tears streamed down my face.
This Jesus was nothing like the prophet I had been taught about in Islamic school.
He was compassionate, loving, and revolutionary in his treatment of outcasts and sinners.
The most shocking moment came when I read 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 felt like someone was speaking directly to my soul, answering questions I had carried for years.
This was not about earning God's favor through perfect ritual performance.
This was about love, pure and unconditional love.
When we returned to Saudi Arabia, I knew I had to have that book.
I carefully removed the Bible from the hotel room, hiding it in my carry-on luggage.
The flight home felt like smuggling contraband, which technically I was.
My heart raced every time we went through security, certain that someone would discover my secret and arrest me on the spot.
Back in Riyadh, I hollowed out an old Islamic commentary book and hid the Bible inside it.
Every night after midnight, when the palace was quiet and the servants were asleep, I would retrieve my hidden treasure.
Under my covers, with a small flashlight, I devoured every page.
Each chapter revealed more of Jesus's incredible love and sacrifice.
Look inside your own heart right now. Have you ever discovered something so powerful, so life-changing that you knew you could never go back to who you were before?
That is what happened to me with every page I read.
The emptiness in my soul was being filled with hope, love, and purpose I had never imagined possible.
On August 15th, 2019, my world collapsed in a single moment.
My cousin Fatima had come to visit, as she often did on Thursday afternoons.
We were discussing wedding preparations for another cousin when she asked to borrow one of my Islamic books for her religious studies.
Without thinking, I directed her to my bookshelf while lcontinued arranging flowers.
The silence that followed was deafening.
When I turned around, Fatima was standing frozen, holding my hollowed out Islamic commentary book with the Bible clearly visible inside.
The look of horror and disgust on her face still haunts me to this day.
Her hands shook as she stared at the forbidden book, then at me as if she were looking at a demon.
"Amira," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"What is this? Please tell me this is not what I think it is.
I could have lied.
I could have claimed it belonged to one of the servants or that I was studying it to refute Christianity.
But in that moment, something inside me refused to deny the truth that had transformed my life.
"It is the Bible, Fatima," I said quietly, "and it has shown me the truth about God's love."
Her face went white as marble.
She dropped the book as if it had burned her hands and ran from my room without another word.
I knew my life as I had known it was over.
Within two hours, my father burst into my chambers with my uncle and several religious advisers.
His face was purple with rage, veins bulging in his neck as he screamed accusations at me.
"How could you bring this shame upon our family?"
"How could you corrupt yourself with this filth?"
My mother stood behind him, tears streaming down her face, ringing her hands in despair.
They gave me one chance to save myself and the family honor.
"Burn the book," my father commanded. "Declare your repentance publicly, and we will say you were temporarily possessed by evil spirits. The family will survive this scandal."
I looked at the Bible lying on my bed, remembering every precious word I had read. Every prayer I had whispered to Jesus in the darkness.
I cannot deny what I know to be true.
I told them, "Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior."
The slap across my face from my uncle's hand was so hard, it knocked me to the floor.
My own mother turned her back on me and walked out of the room without a word.
The religious police arrived at our palace before sunset.
These were not ordinary officers, but members of the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, Saudi Arabia's most feared religious enforcers.
They stripped me of my royal robes and dressed me in a gray prison uniform.
The symbolic transformation was complete.
I was no longer Princess Amira.
I was prisoner number 4758, condemned for the crime of apostasy.
The ride to the detention center was a blurof sirens and shouting.
They put a black hood over my head and shackled my hands and feet.
When they finally removed the hood, I found myself in a concrete cell barely 6 ft by 8 ft.
The walls were stained with the blood and tears of previous occupants.
A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows that danced like demons.
Look inside your own heart right now. Could you imagine losing everything you had ever known, everyone you had ever loved for your faith?
The interrogation began immediately and lasted eighteen brutal hours.
They wanted names of other converts, details about how I had obtained the Bible, confessions of other crimes against Islam.
Three weeks after my arrest, I stood before the Islamic court in chains, no longer recognizable as the princess who had once lived in luxury.
The judge, a stern man with cold eyes, read the charges against me with deliberate slowness.
Apostasy from Islam, blasphemy against Allah and his prophet, and corrupting Islamic values.
Each word fell like a hammer blow against my heart.
The courtroom was packed with religious officials, government representatives, and members of my own family.
My parents sat in the front row, my mother's face hidden behind her hands, my father staring straight ahead as if I no longer existed.
When the judge asked if I understood the charges, my voice echoed in the silent chamber.
I understand the charges, but I do not accept them as crimes.
"Do you renounce your belief in Jesus Christ and return to the true faith of Islam?" The judge demanded.
The entire courtroom held its breath.
I could hear my mother's muffled sobs.
Could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a physical force.
This was my final chance to save my life, to return to my family, to reclaim my royal status.
Look inside your own heart right now. Could you deny Jesus to save your own life?
Could you call the greatest love you had ever known a lie?
I thought of Jesus on the cross dying for my sins, choosing torture and death rather than abandoning his mission. How could I do less for him?
"I cannot and will not renounce Jesus Christ," I declared.
He is my Lord and Savior, and I would rather die as a Christian than live as a lie.
The gavel came down like thunder.
Death by beheading to be carried out on September 12th, 2019.
The courtroom erupted in chaos, but I felt a strange peace wash over me.
They transferred me to death row in a maximum security prison.
My new cell was even smaller with concrete walls that wept moisture and a bucket in the corner for sanitation.
The only light came from a small barred window high above my head.
They fed me one meal a day, stale bread and murky water that tasted of rust and despair.
The prison imam visited me daily offering salvation in exchange for conversion back to Islam.
"You are young and beautiful." He would say, "You could still marry, have children, live a full life. All you mustdo is say the shahada and renounce this Christian madness."
Each time I politely declined, my certainty in Christ only grew stronger with each passing day.
My mother made one final visit three days before my scheduled execution.
She fell to her knees in the visiting room, clutching the bars that separated us, begging me to save myself. "Please, my daughter," she wept. "Just say the words. You can believe whatever you want in your heart, but just say the words to save your life."
"Mother," I said gently, "I love you more than my own life. But I love Jesus more than even you."
I cannot deny him now.
She left that day and never returned.
My father sent word that I was dead to the family, that my name would never be spoken in their house again.
On the night of September 11th, 2019, I lay on the thin mattress in my cell, knowing that in 12 hours I would face the executioner's sword.
I had written farewell letters to family members, though I knew they would never be delivered.
Every sunrise for weeks had felt like a countdown to eternity, and now the final countdown had begun.
Sleep was impossible.
I spent the entire night in prayer pouring out my heart to Jesus, telling him about my fears, my hopes, my gratitude for the time he had given me to know him.
"Jesus," I whispered into the darkness, "if you are real, if you truly love me as the Bible says, please show me, I am about to die for you. Please let me know you are with me."
At exactly 3:33in the morning, everything changed.
At 3:33 in the morning, my dark cell suddenly filled with brilliant light, brighter than the Saudi sun at noon.
I thought the guards had turned on flood lights for some reason.
But this light was different.
It was warm, peaceful, and seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Then I saw him. Jesus stood before me in radiant white robes that seemed to glow from within.
His face was kind and loving with eyes that held depths of compassion I had never imagined possible.
When he spoke, it was in perfect Arabic.
His voice like gentle thunder that resonated through my entire being.
"My daughter, fear not. I am with you." I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by his presence.
This was not a dream or hallucination brought on by stress and fear.
This was the living Christ standing in my death row cell speaking words of comfort to a condemned princess.
"Lord," I whispered, "Tomorrow they will kill me."
"Child," he said, extending his hand toward me.
"Your suffering has not been wasted. It has prepared you for the work I have planned. Your deliverance is at hand and through your testimony many will come to know my love."
He placed his hand on my head and peace flooded my heart like a river of liquid gold.
"You will walk out of this place," Jesus continued. "And you will carry my message to the nations. Trust in me completely."
The vision lasted only minutes.
But when the light faded and Jesus disappeared, everything had changed.
The fear was gone, replaced by unshakable faith and supernatural peace.
Within an hour, the impossible began to happen.
I heard the distinctive click of my cell door unlocking, though no guard had approached.
The heavy steel door swung open silently on hinges that usually groaned and protested.
I stepped into the corridor, expecting alarms to sound and guards to come running.
But the hallway was eerily quiet.
Every security camera I passed was dark.
Their red recording lights extinguished.
The central monitoring station, usually buzzing with activity, was completely silent.
As I walked through the prison, I discovered why.
Every single guard was in a deep supernatural sleep.
They sat slumped in their chairs or lay on benches, breathing steadily but completely unconscious.
It was like the Red Sea parting, impossible, but happening right before my eyes.
I walked through locked doors that opened at my approach, past sleeping guards who should have been alert and vigilant.
The Holy Spirit guided every step, whispering directions in my heart about which corridors to take and which areas to avoid.
The main exit required a complex electronic code and biometric scan, but when l approached, the massive door simply clicked open.
No alarm sounded, no emergency protocols activated.
I stepped out into the cool
pre-dawn air of Riyadh. A free woman when
I should have been hours from execution.
A taxi appeared at the corner as if by
divine appointment. The driver, a kind
elderly man, asked no questions when I
requested transportation to King Khaled
International Airport. God had gone
before me and prepared the way. my royal
passport, which should have been flagged
in the security system as belonging to a
condemned prisoner, scanned normally at
every checkpoint. So, I'm asking you
just as someone who experienced the
impossible would ask, do you believe God
still performs miracles today? I boarded
a KLM flight to Amsterdam with tears
streaming down my face, not from fear,
but from overwhelming gratitude. As the
plane lifted off Saudi soil, I pressed
my face to the window and watched my
homeland disappear below the clouds.
When I landed in Amsterdam 12 hours
later, I fell to my knees on foreign
soil and wept, tears of pure gratitude.
I was alive. I was free. And Jesus had
kept his promise.
The customs officer who processed my
asylum request later told me he had
never seen anyone so grateful just to be
breathing. Three months after my miraculous
escape, I stood waist deep in the
baptismal pool at New Life Christian
Church in Amsterdam.
Pastor Henrik had spent weeks preparing
me for this moment, ensuring l
understood the significance of public
declaration of faith. As I looked out at
the congregation of 200 believers who
had welcomed me with open arms, I felt
overwhelmed by God's grace. "Princess
Amira," Pastor Henrik said with a warm
smile. "Do you accept Jesus Christ as
your Lord and Savior?" My voice rang
clear and strong as I replied, "Yes, I
do." As I went under that water,
something profound happened. Princess
Amira, the woman who had lived in fear
and emptiness, died in that moment when
I emerged gasping and laughing through
tears of joy. I was reborn as a daughter
of the King of Kings. The congregation
erupted in celebration, singing hymns of
praise in languages I did not yet
understand, but felt in my heart. For
the first time in my life, l experienced
authentic Christian community. These
people loved me not for my royal
bloodline or wealth, but simply because
I was their sister in Christ. The
freedom to worship openly, to sing
praise songs, to raise my hands in
worship without fear felt like breathing
fresh air after a lifetime of suffocation.
l enrolled in Bible college immediately,
hungry to learn everything I could about
my new faith.
Every class was a revelation. Systematic
theology, church history, biblical exesis. Each subject opened new windows
into God's character and plan. My
professors were amazed at my passion for
learning and my detailed questions about
scripture. I studied 18 hours a day,
making up for 27 years of spiritual
starvation.
The painful reality of my new life was
the complete severance from my family.
My parents officially declared me dead,
holding a funeral service and erecting a
tombstone with my name. My siblings were
forbidden to speak my name or
acknowledge my existence. Death threats
arrived regularly through various
channels, promising that Saudi agents
would find me and finish the execution
that Jesus had interrupted. But I
discovered something beautiful about
loss. When you lose everything for
Christ, you realize that everything you
thought you needed was actually holding
you back from true joy. The loneliness
was real. The grief for my lost family
was crushing at times, but the peace and
purpose I found in Jesus far exceeded
anything I had sacrificed. God began
opening doors for ministry that I never
could have imagined. Churches across
Europe invited me to share my testimony.
Each time l stood before a congregation
and told my story, I watched faces
transform as people realized the power
of God to save and deliver
Many Muslims in the audience would
approach me afterward, hungry to know
more about this Jesus who could free a
Saudi princess from death row. My
ministry expanded beyond speaking
engagements. I began working with
underground networks that help
persecuted Christians escape Islamic
countries.
Using my knowledge of Arabic culture and
my connections, I have personally
assisted in the rescue of 37 believers
who faced imprisonment or death for
their faith. Each successful escape
reminds me that God saved me not just
for myself, but to be his instrument in
saving others.
In 2022, God blessed me with marriage to
David, a Dutch missionary who had spent
years ministering in the Middle East.
Our wedding was a celebration of God's
faithfulness attended by believers from
23 countries. David understands the
price of following Christ in hostile
territory. And together, we continue the
work God has called us to. Right now,
wherever you are listening to this
testimony, Jesus is calling your name.
He may not be asking you to risk
execution, but he is asking you to
surrender everything to him. The
question you must answer is simple but
profound. What is Jesus worth to you? Is
he worth your comfort zone? Is he worth
your reputation? Is he worth your whole
life? Every breath I take is a miracle.
Every sunrise is a gift from God. Never
underestimate the power of our savior.
If God can free a Saudi princess from death row, he can handle whatever
impossible situation you are facing
today.
Jesus is still performing miracles and you might be his next one.
