My Life in Iran by Emily Stewart

My parents were raised in Iran in the 1940s, both as children of medical missionaries. They had always told me stories of the Iran they knew as children, and it sounded like a magical place; the photographs they shared looked like America in many ways.  

When they returned in 1979, now with my brother and me, it was no longer the Iran they remembered. My father served as the pastor of the Community Church of Tehran amid the post-Revolution turmoil, with growing tensions in the public square. There were protests in the streets, with loud shouts of a phrase I could not understand. I still have the scar on my knee from a bottle that shattered at my feet, having missed its intended target. Fighter jets roared overhead, performing their drills. The call to prayer echoed through the city streets. 

My brother and I would march around our wall-enclosed backyard, imitating the protestors, until my mother scolded us—the phrase we had been repeating was harmful to Americans. We were confused; the protestors we had met had been so kind to us, even sharing their cold sodas with us and commenting on how precious we were. With our fair hair, we certainly stood out. But why were they wishing us harm with their words while being so welcoming with their actions? 

As a child, I couldn’t fully grasp the masks the Iranian people were forced to wear out of fear of persecution. I had only known kindness and hospitality at their hands. Here in the land of the free, we know little of having to hide our true feelings behind outward declarations of agreement. There, women were having their lips ripped off with pliers simply for wearing lipstick. Women’s rights all but disappeared under Sharia Law.   

The American perception of Iran back then was nothing like the Iran I witnessed with my four-year-old eyes. One day, we were watching an American news broadcast from our Tehran living room, informing the viewers that all the Americans had left Iran because of the heightened danger.  

Behind the newscaster was an empty school playground, with an empty swing creaking for effect. We remarked to ourselves, of course the playground is empty; you’re filming a school on a weekend! After my experience in Iran, I distrust anything I see on the news, knowing how facts can be manufactured to evoke a desired emotion. With the current crisis in Iran, it helps to remember not to blindly accept everything presented in the media.   

Many of our friends back home were watching similar news broadcasts and growing increasingly concerned about our welfare. Meanwhile, we were experiencing the Church’s growth and the blessings of being in the palm of God’s hand.  

Both of my parents have written books about the many miracles we witnessed. Iranians are having dreams of Jesus and are actively seeking anyone who can tell them more about the Savior who appeared to them as they slept.  

Prayers for healing are being answered miraculously, and government officials are often blinded to underground church activities. While many American churches are using AI-generated ads to reach potential attendees, the underground Persian church is growing rapidly and organically.  

Tat Stewart, my father and one of the founders of SAT7-PARS, believes that “there are over a million Iranians who have come to faith in Christ over the past 47 years. But that number is low since there are many secret believers who would come forth in a free Iran.”   

Although we were forced to leave long before our intended time, I hope one day to return, this time to a free Iran, one where the roots of the Persian Church can grow into a body of believers who can worship publicly without fear, where the call to prayer is directed to Jesus Christ, and where Iran’s true culture can reemerge. 

Emily Stewart

Emily Stewart comes from a rich heritage, being the third generation of her family to live in Iran. She takes great pride in being the daughter of Tat Stewart, one of the founders of SAT-7 PARS. A published author, she currently resides in Aurora, Colorado, with her three adult children.