In this deeply inspiring book, a former Muslim Arab princess shares her powerful and life-changing journey from royalty to redemption. Born into wealth, power, and strict religious tradition, Amira lived a life of privilege behind palace walls. But everything changed after a mysterious dream and a divine encounter with Jesus Christ. Torn between her upbringing and a growing sense of truth, Amira—now Christabel—risked everything to follow the voice calling her to freedom. From secret Bible readings to a daring midnight escape, her story is one of courage, sacrifice, and unshakable faith. Today, she lives a new life in Christ, helping others find the same hope she once longed for.
Read the full story of how Jesus called her by name, gave her a new identity, and set her free. Her testimony is a powerful reminder that no one is too far, too hidden, or too bound to be reached by His love.
MUSLIM ARAB PRINCESS LEAVES ISLAM
TABLE OF CONTENT
DISCLAIMER
TABLE OF CONTENT
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1: THE ROYAL WORLD
CHAPTER 2: THE UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER CHAPTER 3: THE INNER BATTLE
CHAPTER 4: CHOOSING CHRIST IN SECRET CHAPTER 5: ESCAPE OR EXPOSURE?
CHAPTER 6: CHRISTABEL'S NEW LIFE
INTRODUCTION
My name is Amira. At least, that was my name until my encounter with Jesus, my Savior. I was born into one of the wealthiest royal families in the Middle East. My father is a powerful Emir, respected and feared. My mother is the picture of grace and religious devotion. From the day I was born, my path was already written-at least, that's what everyone believed.
I grew up surrounded by luxury: gold-lined furniture, sparklingfountains, private gardens, and an endless line of maids and tutors. My meals were served on silver trays, my clothes handmade by the finest designers, and my face hidden from the world behind an embroidered veil. Many would say I had everything - riches, honor, and beauty. But deep inside, I carried a quiet emptiness, a silence I couldn't explain.
From a young age, I was taught that a woman's place was in the shadows-obedient, unseen, and unquestioning: I memorized the Quran, attended religious classes, and followed the rules with a quiet smile. But behind the palace gates, behind the veil, I was just a ...
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 through
the 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 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. These
scenes 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, witha 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 l
continued arranging flowers. The silence
that followed was deafening. When I
turned around, Fatima was standing
frozen, holding my hollowedout 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.
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 blur
of 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 must
do is say the shahada and renounce this
Christian madness." Each time l 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 l am about to die for you. Please let
me know you are with me. At exactly 3:33
in 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 l 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.
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