OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, my heart was filled with a new joy, the joy of meeting God Himself. I thought I had known Him my entire life, but now that I knew who He really was, there was no comparison. Nothing compares to the one true God.
Some might ask why I did not just go ahead and recite the sinner’s prayer. The answer is quite simple: I had never heard of the sinner’s prayer. All I knew was that I loved the God of the Bible, and so I pursued Him more and more by reading as much as I could.
I read my study Bible relentlessly, living on each word, following every footnote and cross-reference, only coming back to Matthew if there were no more trails to pursue. It took me about a week to read from Matthew 5 to Matthew 10.
Just after midnight one evening, still captivated by this newfound glory, I found these words in Matthew 10:32 – 33: “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven. But whoever disowns me before others, I will disown before my Father in heaven.”
My heart sank. I had not even acknowledged Jesus to Jesus, let alone to others. But to acknowledge Him meant destroying my family. Could He really charge me to do such a thing?
As if the living word of the Bible were in conversation with me, Jesus began responding to my heart, verse by verse. “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn ‘a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law — a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.’ ”
But how could this be? How could Jesus turn me against Ammi and Abba? They are such wonderful people. Why would God do such a thing?
Jesus answered in the next verse: “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.”
It was not that Jesus was turning me against my parents. It was that, if my family stood against God, I had to choose one or the other. God is obviously best, even if that caused me to turn against my family. But how? How could I bear the pain?
He assured me that inconceivable pain and social rejection is part of the Christian walk: “Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” To be a Christian means suffering real pain for the sake of God. Not as a Muslim would suffer for God, because Allah so commands him by fiat, but as the heartfelt expression of a grateful child whose God first suffered for him.
“But Lord,” I pleaded, “acknowledging my faith in You will mean the end of my life. If I don’t die a physical death through emotional torment or at the hands of some misguided Muslim zealot, at least my entire life as I know it will come to an end.”
I had to give up my life in order to receive His life. This was not some platitude or cliché. The gospel was calling me to die.
“Nabeel, my child,” I felt Him say, “whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.”
I had to give up my life in order to receive His life. This was not some platitude or cliché. The gospel was calling me to die.
Burdened by these words, I lay awake deep into that night. But far from resisting rest, sleep was ashamed to fall upon me. I had denied God long enough. On August 24, 2005, at three o’clock in the morning, I placed my forehead on the foot of my bed and prayed.
“I submit. I submit that Jesus Christ is Lord of heaven and earth. He came to this world to die for my sins, proving His lordship by rising from the dead. I am a sinner, and I need Him for redemption. Christ, I accept You into my life.”
The difficult night that had not granted me peace was quickly fading away as sleep washed over me. I had finally proclaimed the truth of the gospel. I was finally a believer.
Although I believed, I did not yet know the power of the gospel. To teach me that, God was going to break me completely.