Marina describes 1970’s Iran before the revolution as a peaceful, culturally alive country. Her father taught dance, while her mother worked as a hairdresser. Her childhood was innocent and hopeful. She recounts summers by the sea, wearing t-shirts and jeans, eating bologna sandwiches and going to parties with her friends. She meets a boy and they have a sweet but innocent romance. Only months later, he vanishes during a political rally. Horrified and heartbroken, Marina later sees his body in news footage of the protest. With that, her childhood is gone and a sinking sense of change closes in. Her world will never be the same.
The pages of this true story unfold with devastating weight as Marina takes us through the hallways of Evin prison, its torture rooms, cells, and her own execution site. Her Christian faith miraculously sustains her. She prays and tries to forgive. It becomes the key to her survival.

One of her captors, who she is later forced to marry, tells her she was praying when he saw her for the first time. “He said that with my head tilted toward the ceiling and my lips moving slightly in what seemed like a prayer, I had been calm in the middle of a world of fear and despair that surrounded me.” He is her captor, but seems strangely destined to set her free.
Marina and her friends, mere teenagers, live in a world of invisible silence. They think they are forgotten, unseen by the world, with no hope for freedom. Their trials proceed without them. They are found innocent or guilty by whim. It’s as if they are no longer people, no longer human beings created by God. All of that has been stolen from them and it was disturbingly easy to do. One day they were young and free, the next their world changed around them.

In her cell Marina traces an etched phrase with her finger on the wall. Can anyone hear me? She couldn’t tell how long it had been there or who had written it.

On Christmas Day 1983, she stood in the prison’s courtyard gathering laundry from clotheslines. The snow touched her face and numbed her feet. On the same day, I sat under my Christmas tree and opened a package of purple sneakers. When I read the date I knew instantly what I was doing that day. How could this have been happening at the same time?

Though Marina’s life becomes triumphant in time, her story leaves me with a gaping hole in my heart. Evin prison is still open for business today. Even now this story is unfolding again and again within its walls. I wish I could tear it down.

Boys love dinosaurs. At least mine do. If you ask my oldest what he wants to be when he grows up, he will carefully articulate his six-syllable answer: paleontologist. In fact, when he turned three, he actually turned into a velociraptor. I was pregnant with his little brother and I began to recognize a behavior illustrated in Jurassic Park. The velociraptors in the movie were kept in a fenced area charged with electricity. The “zoo keeper” noted that the raptors ran into the fence multiple times a day. Knowing that the raptors were intelligent creatures, he deduced that they were not accidentally electrocuting themselves but testing the fence for weaknesses.

As I watched my three-year-old adjust to his new baby brother I saw this same testing pattern. With each meltdown, each temper tantrum, each broken toy, he was wondering if I still loved him as much as before. He was wondering if he could get away with more since I was so tired. And how would I react if he did his karate moves too close to the baby? Was I paying less attention to him because he wasn’t as loud and demanding as the baby? Was hitting me an acceptable way to express his frustration? How about biting? Throwing things? Could Mommy act as angry and frustrated as he was feeling?

As weeks stretched into months, this zoo keeper came close to losing her cool on many occasions. Okay, in all honesty, I did lose it sometimes. There were nights that I fell into bed and thought, God, what have we done? We’ve broken him. I wish I could say that through it all I had peace, but the truth is that even with much prayer it felt like a colossal struggle to get through each day with everyone’s limbs and spirits preserved. I did have the occasional spiritual vision of what it must be like for the Lord when we have our little rebellions, our fits of doubt, our own version of boundary testing. But mostly I felt like I was just making it through each long and tiring day.

And then, I began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. As the baby got older and didn’t require so much of my constant attention, I was better able to spend one-on-one time with my eldest. I talked to other moms who were experiencing identical behaviors in their boys at the same age or when they had their second baby. I stopped questioning whether or not what we were experiencing was normal and accepted where we were.

Most of the articles and blog entries were written with an “us versus them” attitude, non-competitive moms versus competitive moms. Trouble was, the more I read the harder it was for me to figure out into which category I fit. Because, let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. We all know at least one mom that brings out the competitive monster in us—sister-in-law, neighbor, friend. No matter how secure we normally are in our mothering abilities, when we get around this woman we have an out-of-body experience. The one-upmanship knows no bounds.

Perhaps as you’re reading this, you’re thinking, “I don’t have trouble with being competitive. Sure, women are often threatened by me, but that’s not my fault.” Honey, sometimes you have to take an honest look at the common denominator in all of your relationships—you. At times, we can’t do anything about the other woman’s attitude, and we are completely innocent of all blame. But more often, we have at least some small role to play. After all, there’s no such thing as a one-woman competition.

So what’s at the root of the competitive games we play with one another? Competition can be a good thing in the right arena, and some might say that women are naturally competitive. We are wired to compete for resources to feed our young, select the best mates etc. Competition is a natural part of a woman’s makeup, the argument goes. But if you’ve ever seen a group of women loving one another and working in unity toward a common goal, and if in contrast you’ve ever had a friendship with another woman slowly deteriorate under the pressure of competition, you know there has to be a better way, a higher way.

At the root of competition lies insecurity, defensiveness…and maybe fear? Think back to a competitive interaction you’ve had with another mom. Was a part of you afraid that she really might be a better mother? That your son would suffer in the future because you didn’t do xyz like she did? Or were you afraid that you would be perceived as a bad mom unless you made sure everyone knew your daughter could pole-vault with the best of them?

Fear motivates us to do and say things out of character, especially when our identity as a good mom is on the line. When we find ourselves falling into a competitive pattern, our first instinct is to lash out or run the other way. Indeed most online posts recommended putting the competitive mom in her place and then avoiding her like the plague. Certainly, in order to have the energy for life, we can limit our exposure to those who sap our strength in pointless competitions. But if we follow common wisdom to the end where do we get? We have hurt feelings, drained emotions and isolation. If you want to feed a mom’s competitive monster, cut her off from healthy relationships with other women and deny her affirmation. Most women confess a deep longing for the exact opposite—a group of women who will love them, support them and accept them warts and all. So what’s the answer?

I John 4:18
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.”

I Peter 4:8
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”

When we love one another, not just those who are easy to love or when others are easiest to love but “warts and all,” then competitiveness, defensiveness and fear don’t stand a chance. Love decimates fear because perfect love is not conditional on us being on our best behavior at all times. Perfect love is not based on performance but on grace. Christ extended grace to us. Shouldn’t we then extend it to others when needed?

I know, easy to say, harder to do, but all things are possible in Christ. Extending grace to others is also easier when we feel secure in our identity, based not on how brilliant our children are but on being new creations in Christ.

“My son, pay attention to what I say; listen closely to my words. Do not let them out of your sight, keep them within your heart; for they are life to those who find them and health to a man’s whole body. Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” Proverbs 4:20-23

Call to me. Come to me. Do not deny yourself time with me. You are on a journey and you need food for your trip, clothing for your back, and oil for your head. Don’t go out in my name without a fresh taste of my Spirit. Just as your body needs living food that is fresh and not molded, you need a fresh word from me everyday. Keep your spirit strong through rest, exercise, and eating of spiritual food.

Just as you rise and take care of your physical body, take care of your spiritual man. Wash yourself with the cleansing of my blood, clothe yourself with power from on high, and eat of my word which will make you strong. Meet with me for instructions and let my love flow through your heart so you’ll forget yourself and know the one who’s sending you. I’ll take care of the rest. All you have to do is show up. Everything you need will be inside of you. Just draw it out when you need it.

One more thing.

There will be traps set by men and demons but man has forgotten who I AM. As long as you don’t forget, you’ll avoid them. When they are in front of you, walk through them. When they are to your left, right or behind you, walk forward. Always move forward. I will give you my compass.

“And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master’s table.” Matthew 15:27

My church has been like a dog waiting and begging for me to throw them a crumb out of my mercy. I’m calling them to rise up off the threshing floor and take their place at my table. The feast is before them – it is my body and my blood. They will never hunger or thirst again.

There is plenty of room at my table. I never run out of chairs and my Father never runs out of food. Don’t let the feast spoil by lying and waiting for the crumb. The Master is disappointed that the seats are empty.

There are broken chords everywhere. My people are talking to the air. Their words are many and elegant but they are not connected to Me. My heart is broken because they have made it a game. They shout and they dance when they call out My name. But where are the worshippers who know Me? Where are those who long to walk close by My side? Even those who are passionate about Me don’t know Me. As My call is heard in the earth, the echoes of the rocks are fuller of My Word than my children. There is no faith because My sheep have wandered from My gate.