The numbers on page two are staggering, but they are easy to scroll past. This page is about real people and their stories. One story per country, told in their own words, and as much as possible, showing what it actually costs to be a Christian in these places.

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         In Nigeria, a team of missionaries from Global Christian Relief found Tabitha tending her farm. She walked them through her property with a smile and said "We are truly grateful." She said, "If not for the love of God, we never imagined anyone would help us." Tabitha's hardship did not begin with Boko Haram. It began when she was eight years old when her family was driven from their home by Muslim relatives just for being a Christian. By 2014, she had rebuilt, and had a husband and two children. Then, militants came out of the brush while she and her husband worked the field. He ran for the river, and she never saw him again. What followed was an occupation she describes as "more unsettling than shouting." The village pastor was murdered in his chair, and men were beheaded at the edge of town. "'Is it better to reject Jesus or die?' she said. 'I knew I would rather die righteously than die in sin.'" When she returned home a year later, the village was flat. "All you could see outside were people's skeletons."

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           Fatemeh became a Christian in her twenties in Iran. In Iran, that is not a spiritual descision, it's a criminal one. She found a house church and thought she had found somewhere safe to practice her faith. Then, the secret police came. "We still can't forget the day when the police raided our house church and took some of us away. They forced us to sign a paper confessing we would never meet or engage in Christian activities again." What followed was years of suppression and isolation. "We couldn't keep Christian materials or even a Bible in our house," She said. "We had to throw them all away, and if anyone was courageous enough to risk keeping a small bible, they had to hide it very well, and read it in secret."

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           Pastor Ezra Jin Mingri built Zion Church in Beijing from the ground up. Over time, it became one of the most influential underground church networks in China reaching more than 40 cities with an estimated 10,000 members. In 2018, the government ordered him to install surveillance cameras inside his church. He refused, and they banned the church, confiscated his property, and put a travel ban on Jin. On October 10, 2025, his rebellion caught up with him. Jin was arrested alongside dozens of church staff and members across the country. Pastor Jin's daughter Grace was in the United States when she got the call. "God and faith will never be in the Chinese government's control," she said. As of March 21, Pastor Jin's whereabouts are still unkown.

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            Jung Jik grew up in North Korea in the 1960s. He was taught that Kim Il-Sung was the only god. Every morning he watched his grandmother stand over the stove mumbling quietly to herself. He thought it was superstition, but it was prayer. She was a Christian, but she could never tell him. Even Children were known to report relatives to the authorities. The authorities had discovered that Jung Jik's father had become a Christian and took him away, only leaving a message on his children's hands that said that he was a follower of Jesus. Jung Jik eventually fled North Korea, was captured, and spent time in a prison where he was no longer called by his name, but only a number. He escaped the prision and fled North Korea and found Jesus. "I left as a traitor," he said. "But now, I was determined to return as an evangelist." Inside North Korea, he stayed with a family for two days and shared the gospel with them. It was unsafe for him to stay anylonger as winter was ending and the ice was thawing. "When I came in," he said, "I crossed the river like a snake. When I left, I crossed the river dancing.

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