by Maryam Rostampour-Keller, as told on the Story Partners Podcast
Since birth, I had been taught that Islam was perfect, Muhammad was the last prophet, and Jesus was not the Son of God. But that day, God showed me the truth.
Life in Two Worlds
My name is Maryam Rostampour-Keller. I was born in Kermanshah in northwest Iran, but I grew up in a small city close to Tehran. I was born after the Islamic Revolution, so I never experienced the freedom people had under the Shah, though I heard about it from my parents all the time.
Growing up in Iran after the revolution was like living in two different worlds. In public, I had to pretend to be a devout Muslim. From age seven, girls must wear the Islamic hijab to go to school. I had to attend Islamic prayers and pray namaz in Arabic. The government monitors you at school and work to ensure you are following Islamic rules. At home, however, it was a different world. No one expected me to be a Muslim; we lived a secular lifestyle like millions of other Iranians.
I was very confused. A lot of Iranians are nominal Muslims. They have parties, they drink, and they rarely read the Quran. I had deep questions about God. I used to ask my Arabic teachers why I had to speak to God in Arabic instead of my own language, Farsi. I was told not to ask questions and just follow the rules. In Iran, even asking questions sounds like blasphemy.
I was looking for the truth. For a time, I tried to be a good Muslim. I found a Farsi translation of the Quran and started reading, but I couldn’t hear God’s voice. It was just me trying so hard to get close to Him, but I wasn’t getting anything back. Eventually, I gave up on spiritual practices altogether.
But there was still something deep inside me, something sweet and joyful, drawing me toward God. I decided to just talk to Him in Farsi. I would look at the sky and talk for an hour or two, but I felt like my voice just hit the ceiling. There was always a barrier between God and me. I believe God saw my passion and my thirst to know Him.
The Small Booklet
One day, my sister came home with a small booklet she had received from a man at a church near Tehran University. It was a portion of the Book of Luke. I remember that day clearly; it was the afternoon, and she said, “I know you’re searching for the truth. Maybe this will help you.”
I had no idea what Christianity was. I had never been to a church or owned a Bible. I took the booklet to my room, closed the door, and sat on the floor. Something happened the moment I opened it. From the first word, I felt like someone was speaking to me, like Jesus was standing right in front of me, reading the words.
Since birth, I had been taught that Islam was perfect, Muhammad was the last prophet, and Jesus was only a prophet, not the Son of God. But that day, God’s presence filled the room and revealed the truth to me. I cried for three hours straight. God revealed to me that the reason I couldn’t hear His voice was that I needed Jesus. I experienced the Holy Spirit as a person. On the last page, I prayed the confession prayer and gave my heart to Jesus.
A Secret Life
I walked out of the room and told my sister, “I gave my heart to Jesus.” She was shocked. I wasn’t even thinking about the consequences of living in an Islamic country; I was just so in love with Jesus that I wanted to share Him with everyone. That first week, I talked to family, friends, and even strangers in the street.
I eventually spoke with a pastor who told me, “You’ve been a Christian from the day you gave your heart to Jesus.” My sister gave her heart to Jesus a month later, and my younger brother followed a few months after that. However, we had a hard time with my dad. He was concerned for our safety and under pressure from relatives who told him his house was “dirty” because his children were Christians.
We stayed on fire for God. I would hide small Bibles around the house and play DVDs of sermons loudly so my dad could hear about Jesus.
I was baptized in Iran at 1:00 a.m. We had to go to a house one at a time and enter the basement. In Iran, baptism makes your conversion “official.” Without it, you might be okay, but once baptized, the court can sentence you to execution for apostasy.
Despite the risks, I was full of joy. I gave Bibles to my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I didn’t feel the hostile environment because I was so focused on sharing God’s love. I eventually spent two years being trained by a faithful woman at the church. One night, after praying for the gift of tongues, I went home and began speaking in tongues for hours. It was overwhelming.
I eventually went to Turkey for theological training. My friend and I decided to go back to Iran because we knew people needed to hear about Jesus. In 2005, we began a mission to distribute Bibles. We asked a mission base in London to provide small New Testaments that were easy to hide. They smuggled thousands into the country for us.
We would put about 17 New Testaments in our backpacks each night and walk through different neighborhoods in Tehran, putting them in mailboxes or under doors. Over two years, we distributed 20,000 Bibles. God protected us. Once, someone saw us and chased us, but we escaped. We also shared Jesus with taxi drivers and strangers in the street, inviting them to our house church.
The Arrest
Two or three months before we were arrested, our passion for evangelism suddenly vanished. I felt weird about it; I even went to the mountains with ten Bibles but couldn’t bring myself to give even one away. We later learned that the government had been monitoring us during those months. Because we hadn’t handed out any Bibles during that time, they had no physical evidence against us.
On the day of our arrest, the guards deceived my friend, telling her there was a problem with her car documents to get her to the police station. Later, they came to our apartment. I saw my friend through the peephole with three guards behind her. They searched our apartment and found hundreds of New Testaments and Christian movies. They shouted, “We found the source!”
They separated us and interrogated us until after midnight. They threatened us with execution because we had converted from Islam. I was so scared that my mouth was dry; I had to drink water just to speak.
The Most Notorious Prison in Iran
We were sent to a detention center in a basement. It was freezing, and we slept on a concrete floor using blankets that smelled of urine. We were surrounded by addicts and prostitutes. But even there, God worked. Women in Iran are treated as second-class citizens, and many were drawn to us. We shared our stories and prayed with them.
Eventually, we were moved to the notorious Evin Prison. We spent 40 days in solitary confinement in Building 209. The lights were on 24 hours a day. I sat on a metal chair, blindfolded, for eight or nine hours of interrogation at a time.
One day, after the judge threatened us with execution by hanging, I felt a deep darkness and fear. I couldn’t feel God’s presence. It was the scariest moment of my life. I decided to start singing and worshipping loudly in Farsi, even though it was forbidden. My cellmate was terrified they would punish me, but as I sang, the darkness lifted. The guards heard me, but they didn’t stop me.
We were later moved to a public ward with 50 or 60 prisoners. At first, the other prisoners were hostile and called us “dirty Christians,” but we chose to love them and share our food. Within a month, even the prison gangs became our friends and protectors.
The interrogators were furious that we continued to share Jesus even inside the prison. They brought in an Islamic studies professor to prove I was “brainwashed.” He told me, “If I was your father, I would have killed you myself.”
I told him, “You cannot separate Jesus from me. I met Him before I ever knew a church.”
After months in prison, we were still not allowed to see our families. Only our sisters were allowed to come visit us.
The Power of the Shepherd’s Voice
After seven months in prison, two well-known guardsmen, whom the other prisoners feared because of their reputation for physical punishment, called our names over the loudspeaker. Our friends were terrified for us, but when we entered the manager’s office, the guards simply asked, “Why are you receiving so many letters?”
They told us there was a room full of letters for us. Although they wouldn’t let us open them, the guards were required to read every single one. Most people had written Bible verses, particularly the 23rd Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd.” The guards asked us, “What does this mean, ‘God is our shepherd’?” We realized God was using those letters to speak even to the guards.
One guard, a huge man, sat in front of us shaking. He told us, “I had a dream. Jesus told me to come to prison and help you.” Another friend of his in a different city had the exact same dream. We saw miracles like this constantly. It was the power of those prayers from the outside that strengthened us to share the message of Jesus with the women inside.
I often tell people that there is a difference between worldly happiness and the joy of God. I was not “happy” to be in prison; I wanted to be free, and I prayed for it. But I had a deep joy knowing God had a purpose for me there. For nine months, the women in the public ward became our family. From morning to night, we sat with them, listened to their stories, and prayed with them. As people were released, new ones arrived, providing non-stop opportunities to share the hope of Jesus.
International Advocacy
Our case received significant international attention because we were among the first Christian women arrested for our faith in Iran. Organizations advocated for us, and even Pope Benedict XVI contacted the Iranian government.
The guards were shocked. They asked, “Why did the Pope contact us about you?” Suddenly, their behavior changed. They tried to lie and say, “We only kept you here to protect you from fanatic Muslims.” In reality, they were scared of the international spotlight. This advocacy saved our lives. The regime had tortured and killed many others who had no voice outside. We eventually discovered that organizations like Amnesty International and the UN had compiled over 300 pages of documents regarding our case.
We were released in November 2009. That first night, our families prepared a feast, but my friend and I could only sob. We couldn’t eat, thinking of the women we left behind—some sentenced to years of hardship, others to execution.
The regime wanted us to flee the country immediately so they could save face, but we chose to stay for our final court date six months later. At that hearing, they threatened us: “We will let you go this time, but next time won’t be the same.”
We were “free,” but we lived in a prison within our own apartment. We were followed everywhere. Friends from our house church were too terrified to speak to us in the street. I realized my mission in Iran was finished; I could no longer evangelize or connect with the church. In 2011, I left for the United States via the UN refugee process, starting my life again from zero.
A Voice for the Voiceless
Since arriving in the U.S., my friend and I have dedicated ourselves to being a voice for the women still in prison. We wrote our book, Captive in Iran, to share not just our story, but the stories of those who remain in darkness.
Today, the Iranian government has changed its strategy. They no longer charge most Christians with “apostasy” because it draws too much international heat. Instead, they use political charges like “anti-government activities” to hide the religious persecution.
In America, we are comfortable. We have access to Bibles and churches. But I have to remind myself every day not to be distracted by that comfort. We shouldn’t wait for persecution to get close to God.
My experiences in prison were 14 years ago, but I don’t want to rely only on those old memories. I want to know what Jesus is doing in my life today. Nothing is more precious than a relationship with the person of Jesus Christ.
He is my everything, and I long for the day I can see Him face to face.
