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God put the brakes on my life because he cared enough to say, 'Lia, you are going to stop and think and listen to what I have planned for you.' At the time, I wasn't convinced that being in jail on the other side of the world for more than four years was a great plan, but I know better now. My punishment, rightly deserved, only helped me see how brightly the light of Jesus shines in extremely difficult situations."

The difficult situations began in February 1992. Raised in a Christian home, Eliadah "Lia" McCord had moved out of her parents' house after high school, was modeling swimwear and lingerie by day, drinking and doing the club scene at night (even though she was underage), and not enjoying it at all. "I remember hearing a voice inside me saying, 'Lia, you need to get your act together and get back to school. This is not where you want to be.'" She quit modeling and set her sights on business school. The tuition—$8,000—was more than she or her parents could afford.

When Lia told her friend, Cindy, about the money woes, Cindy casually mentioned she was going to make $10,000 in cash for a one-time "top secret" business trip. Lia pressed her until Cindy admitted she would be smuggling diamonds. A few weeks later, Cindy returned, full of stories of lavish travel arrangements as well as easy money. The trap was set for Lia. Only one detail had changed: it wasn't diamonds she had smuggled—it was heroin.

"I had agreed to meet Cindy's connection, and I told him straight out I didn't want to do anything with drugs," Lia says. "A good friend in high school had committed suicide because he got so messed up on drugs, and at his funeral I vowed I would never touch them." When the contact said that was the only thing he had to offer, Lia said, "I can't do that" and stood up to leave.

"Sit down, sweetheart. We can work with this," the man said in a smooth voice. "I like your morals, I really respect that in a person. Here's what you can do. Just take the heroin to Switzerland—drugs are practically legal there-you won't be hurting anyone and you won't be responsible for bringing it into your own country."

Lia still balked, but then Cindy began firing questions: "What about school? How will you ever get the money for that? And what about your mom? She could use some extra money right now, couldn't she?" The man jumped in, doubling the offer, emphasizing it was Lia's one big chance to get on her feet financially. As a million thoughts rushed through her head, she nodded yes.

"I did tell my parents about the idea," she said. "Their response was what I expected: 'Don't do it. Don't go out of the country. It's too dangerous.' In the meantime, I snuck my birth certificate out of the house to apply for my passport. And I left."

Cold feet and hot goods
The destination was Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. Because of Lia's natural skin coloring, the U.S. contact felt it was perfect—Lia would blend in with people easily, not arousing undue suspicion. The amenities were just as Cindy described, but after a week in her five-star hotel, Lia was spending most of her time in bed-fighting nausea and a fever. Because of her unexpected illness, the quick in-and-out-of-the-country job was turning into a two-week stay. Enough time for her to reconsider what she was about to do.

"I decided I didn't want to do it. I hadn't received the heroin yet from the dealer, so if I could sneak out of the hotel without him knowing, I could get to the airport, fly home, and that would be that."

The next evening, two-and-a-half hours before her plane was scheduled to leave, Lia slipped down a service stairway clutching her plane tickets and passport. "When I opened the door at the bottom, I was in the lobby! A bellboy rushed over to help, drawing attention to me. At that moment, Tony, the dealer, walked into the hotel and saw me."

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"It's over. It's not going to happen," Lia said, trying to get by. "I'll miss my plane."

Grabbing her tickets and passport, he sneered, "It's happening. Come with me." Hailing a taxi, they arrived at his hotel and he quickly hustled Lia to his room. Ignoring her protests, Tony handed Lia a package of heroin and showed her how to slip it flat under a girdle. Then they left for the airport.

Under his watchful eye, Lia easily walked through the metal detector, but her heart beat faster when she saw everyone undergoing body checks. "I almost got away when they weren't looking. But I was stopped, searched, and when they found the heroin, I immediately said, 'That's not mine! Please take it! I don't know what it is or how it got there! It's the last day on my 15-day visa and … '"

"You don't need a visa to go to jail, young lady," was the cold response. Dragged through the crowd by a rope tied between her cuffed hands, the police began non-stop questioning. It would last five days.

Take us to your dealer
At the police station, Lia tried to cooperate. The police promised to release her if she could lead them to the drug dealer, but she didn't know anything except where Tony was staying. At his hotel, Tony's bags were still in his room and heroin powder was everywhere. Not surprisingly, he was gone.

But the next day, he was arrested trying to escape across the border. Lia was asked to identify him.

"I'm in one room, he's in another, and the police said I had to go in the room where he was and identify him. If he sees me, he'll kill me, I thought."

Bracing herself, Lia stepped in the doorway. On the other side of the room, three men held Tony. "It's him," she said. He lunged, screaming at her, "I don't know you!"

Enjoying the confrontation, the police kept her there for several minutes to make sure she knew this man.

Tony was beaten, confessed, and even named three other people involved in the drug ring. Lia reminded the police of their promise to release her if she helped them find the dealer. For five days, she continued to answer questions, provide names and addresses of family members and any information the police requested. But she was not released.

For the four years she remained in prison, her picture often appeared in local magazines as "the daring American who thinks she can escape the law."

There's trouble, Houston
About 9:00 p.m., on February 25, 1992, Lia's mother, Sylvia, answered the phone in their South Houston home. A reporter from the Houston Post asked if she could make a statement about her daughter who was sentenced to die by hanging. Sylvia didn't even know Lia was out of town.

"I literally felt like someone had thrown me across the room," Sylvia said. "I asked the reporter to read me the wire story. Knowing he was probably writing down everything I said, I was cautious with my responses. I told him I wanted to get more information and then I could comment."

After she hung up, Sylvia had to stop and think where she was, even who she was. Bangladesh was on the other side of the world. Wasn't it somewhere near India? How could she help? What did she need to do next? She fought off the feelings of helplessness, knowing it was important for her not to fall apart. As she said, "I began living one day at a time."

The biblical name Eliadah means, "Whom God cares for," a name her father, Richard, had chosen eight months before she was born. Sylvia's first prayer was "God, I put Lia in your hands. Whatever this situation is for, I know you've given her the strength. Lia, you can endure this because you can rely on God's strength." That prayer was for herself and her family. Richard prayed for Lia's survival—emotional and spiritual. Over the next few days, the McCords would contact the U.S. Embassy and make arrangements for a gift of money to be sent to Lia in Bangladesh to help with legal fees.

The "official" news from the Embassy for the next four years would come via form letters every three or four months saying that someone visited your daughter, she was in good health, she was given magazines and fruit, she sends her greetings.

Whenever Sylvia tried to write Lia a letter, the tears would begin. There were many unfinished, unmailed letters. But as Sylvia said, "I wrote Lia every day in my head."

Called to be a prisoner
Despite cooperating with the Bangladesh police, Lia was convicted as a heroin smuggler. The prison, in the heart of Dhaka, is a bleak world of cement, dirt, and walls so white "they hurt your eyes." Lia had her own cell; most of the 150 to 200 women prisoners were housed in the "tin cell"—a long rectangle of corrugated metal.

Her "bathroom" was in the corner of her 7x10-foot room—a three foot wall with two bricks to sit on over a sunken toilet bowl in the floor. Toilet paper clogged the pipes, so Lia used water like everyone else. Rats tunneled around the trash areas, sometimes scurrying through the cells. Because she was the only American there, Lia did receive preferential treatment. Her room was "furnished" with a table, chair, and bed, and she was given a mosquito net. Requests for extra food or medicines were rarely denied.

She was the center of attention for her prison mates. She was the tallest woman there—at 5'2"! She began to learn the Bengali language, picked up some Arabic phrases, gradually could join in Somalian songs, became part of an international community. Lia saw babies born and women die. Surrounded by mostly a Muslim (and some Hindu) population, she studied the culture and how religion played a major part in it.

When she entered prison, she felt far from God. "I had never been confronted by radically different opinions regarding religious faith before," Lia said. "But the Muslims who were so sure of their beliefs began to challenge me to prove my own. Sometimes I thought, Am I right or wrong? But I began to dig into a Bible I had received from the Embassy, essentially to find out what I really believed." The more she read and memorized Scripture, the closer God came.

But Lia took it a step further. Generally, Muslims consider Christians to be lazy and undisciplined. Lia decided to memorize all their Arabic prayers, chapters from the Koran, and even to fast with the Muslim women. Over time, it did affect their attitudes. One woman, who had been particularly harsh, admitted to someone new who asked if Lia was a Muslim, "Oh, no, she's smarter than that. She knows more about the Muslim faith than most Muslims do. I wish we could be as sure of our beliefs as she is of hers."

As she grew in her faith, Lia also became more adept at witnessing. "I never knocked them over the head with the gospel, just tried to work it into everyday conversations. The other prisoners might dismiss what I said, but they did comment, 'Well, you're sure happy a lot. I guess we'll have to think about what you're talking about.'" Knowing that others saw her as an inspiration became a responsibility she felt God gave her.

A servant among the cells
"I had a lot of fun some days. The others would see me being goofy—doing calisthenics, jumping rope, jogging, dancing, playing with the children—and think, She's nuts. Sitting around being depressed wasn't going to make the days go by faster. And would it be pleasing to God who said to rejoice in all things? So I decided, This is where I am. I deserve to be here. But I need to make something good out of this."

The other inmates seemed to notice. They often made excuses to stop by Lia's cell, just to look at her, commenting she was "something bright to see. She knew where the brightness came from. "Even though I was in prison surrounded by Muslims, Jesus was there shining brightly through me."

Changes were subtle but significant in the other women. Rashida, a devout Muslim from Pakistan, "adopted" Lia, doing laundry for her, spending all day with her. Being a despised foreigner, Rashida often got into fights when someone insulted her. And she didn't like sharing Lia with the others.

But halfway through Lia's imprisonment, Rashida started walking away from arguments instead of retaliating. She helped Lia pass out food to the children and older women, let Lia know who to treat for scabies and who needed fever medicine, and even made new friends, delighting in making them laugh.

"God kept impressing on me that Rashida was one of the big reasons I was in prison—to personally impact her life," says Lia. "I needed to see what he could do to a person, outside of myself. I think if I hadn't seen any results, it would have been discouraging. Rashida became God's little voice for me, always questioning me about things I said or did. I was her example of God's grace, helping her to see that he cared."

That care came through in small ways—the sun breaking through on a heavily overcast day as Rashida hung out the laundry, never running out of medicine when it was needed, and (once during the four years) a guard bringing a block of ice to provide every woman a small cup of cold water.

But one of God's greatest gifts was the friendship of missionary Mitali Perkins.

Prayers around the world
Prison ministry wasn't at the top of Mitali's to-do list, but one day she heard about a young American who had been incarcerated more than two years for smuggling drugs, and she felt led to contact her. After weeks of red tape, Mitali gained permission to visit Lia. From then on, she visited once a month.

Mitali, a pastor's wife, asked members of her church to pray for Lia. Seeing Lia grow stronger spiritually as more people prayed, Mitali decided to extend the prayer circle. An article about Lia was featured in the November/December 1995 Christian Reader. Readers sent more than 300 letters to Lia. Once again, God's timing was perfect.

"In August 1995, my case came up before the High Court. During the judge's questioning, he asked me how old I was—was I 18? 'No,' I replied honestly, 'I'm 22.' The judge kept asking me if I was sure how old I was. Finally, I realized what he was trying to do. If I lied about my age and said I was 18, that meant I was arrested when I was a minor. I could have been released right there on a technicality. I refused to lie.

"I was dismissed from the rest of the hearing, but ten days later I heard on the radio that I had been released," Lia explained. "I found it curious that no officials came to see me but praised God for the exciting news. Mitali had been out of town, and when she saw me she was excited but quietly said there were rumors going around. Rumors that the decision might be challenged."

It was true. The government had put a "stay" on Lia's case until October 1995. The news devastated Lia. She considered going on a hunger strike.

The "stay" kept getting extended on flimsy excuses. Six months later, Mitali began bringing bags of letters—the visible signs from Christian Reader subscribers to Lia that God was watching over her. The words of support and love as well as the promise to pray buoyed her spirits. She decorated her cell with the cards, pictures, and gifts, turning often to the promises in Matthew 6:25-34 that God would take care of her needs, that he knew what tomorrow would bring. It was a passage she often used to help other prisoners when they were discouraged.

When least expected
The "stay" was still in effect in February 1996, when Congressman Bill Richardson (D-New Mex.), an unofficial presidential envoy, arrived in Bangladesh to give U.S. assistance with their national elections. The Embassy told him about Lia—she had been in prison four years, was a model prisoner, it was time for her to be released. Richardson was interested since he had been instrumental in other American hostage/prisoner situations. When the congressman probed further, he learned the problem: releasing her through the court system would set a precedent for future drug convictions.

When Lia's hearing was finally put on the docket July 1, 1996 and the arguments were made, the judge said his decision would be handed down on July 4—the American Independence Day. There were no fireworks when the judge pronounced his decision: "As much as we feel for this young lady, the law is the law and according to the law, she is guilty and should receive 30 years in prison. My judgment will not be challenged."

Lia cried for two days "so loudly," she admits, "that the whole jail heard me." Now her only hope for freedom was God's intervention and a presidential pardon.

Congressman Richardson had not stopped pleading her case with the Bangladesh government. When a new prime minister took office, it seemed the right time for a humanitarian gesture toward the United States—Lia's release.

It came on July 25, 1996. Things moved rapidly, so rapidly that Lia couldn't even give Rashida a last hug. A prison policewoman told Lia she would transfer Lia's money into Rashida's account. Yumiko, a Japanese friend, walked with Lia through the crowd to the prison gate. The last thing Lia saw was Yumiko waving goodbye with her little white handkerchief.

Congressman Richardson remembers the first thing Lia said to him during the first of many press conferences was "I want to thank God" before praying out loud before everyone there. She also wanted to see Mitali before she left the country. Though treated royally in the presidential guest house, Lia was ready to go home.

Second chance
"In many of Lia's letters to us, she would say how much her arms ached to hug us," Sylvia says. "From the moment we reunited at Dulles Airport, I haven't wanted to let her out of my sight."

Tears brim in Lia's eyes as she explains that her mom, dad, and brothers in the first days back would give her spontaneous hugs. The adjustments will take time. Lia sleeps more comfortably when the air conditioning is turned off; she now eats spicy food ravenously, where before she couldn't stomach it. Her younger brothers, Caleb and Josh, have grown up since she last saw them and tell her how the rules have changed in high school—no shirttails out, extra security measures.

"Probably the biggest change is not having that constant social interaction," Lia say. "All day in my cell I had people coming to talk with me. We were always busy. Sometimes at home, when everyone is off in their different directions, I get lonely."

There are still letters to catch up with, friends halfway around the world to pray for ("Rashida didn't make a commitment to Christ before I left, but I think it could happen"), her future to think over.

Lia has had job offers—even one that would take her back to Bangladesh. It's appealing, but she doesn't want to rush into anything. She wants to finish her education.

Sometimes she gets a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes, I would like to go back there as a free person and be able to say to those high up, 'This is what I've done with the chance you—and God—gave me.'"

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