Live, Labor, and Die
“There may I live, labor, and die.” Thus ends missionary George Dana Boardman’s letter to his friends back home in Maine. When he wrote this letter, Boardman was on a ship on his way Burma where he would be a missionary. And indeed, in Burma would he live, labor, and die.
In the same letter, Boardman lays out his testimony and his calling to the field. His process for determining his call is exemplary, and all who are considering missions should follow suit. Boardman felt an eagerness and a desire to serve God in any way. He talked to his mentors. He talked to his family. And he dedicated time to praying and fasting so that he might be sure of his call.
For all who are considering the field, George Dana Boardman is a wonderful example of properly preparing to do whatever God calls you to. After his careful consideration and preparation, he worked in Burma until his death in 1831, at the young age of 30. Through his labors, many heard the gospel for the first time and were brought into God’s family.
My dear Brethren,
In compliance with your request, I will now give you a sketch of those exercises and events, which led me to think it my duty to devote myself to the work of a missionary among the heathen.
I obtained hope of a gracious interest in Christ in December 1819. I was then a member of the sophomore class in Waterville college, State of Maine. Till then, I felt no interest whatever in missions of any kind. Nor was my interest in them much excited, till nearly a year afterwards, though my father's family, and nearly all the members both of the Faculty and college were deeply interested in them.
Soon after professing religion in July, 1820, I was led to pray very often that God would make me useful. I had no particular choice as to the manner in which He should employ me, but I felt under infinite obligations to Him, and longed to express my sense of them by a life devoted to His service. I used to offer up that prayer very often in secret, and frequently in our social meetings, I had an abiding impression that I was “not my own, but bought with a price.” I seemed as one waiting at the foot of the divine throne, to receive any command which God might please to give; and I enjoyed an indescribable satisfaction in thus giving myself up as a living sacrifice. I felt infinitely unworthy, and still I longed to be wholly employed in his service. If not deceived, I then made, daily, an unreserved dedication of myself to God, to be His servant. Like Saul, I inquired, without prescribing any favorite course, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” Sometimes, when I read or heard of the desolate places in God's heritage, I longed to be employed as a laborer, however menial, in some spot, however barren. To engage in the Gospel ministry, I had one standing and uniform objection; not to the work itself as appearing disagreeable, (it was far otherwise,) but to myself, as being wholly unfit for it. My feelings continued uniformly as I have described, till the winter of 1820, when the thought occurred to me, that I could take my Bible and travel through new settlements, where the Gospel was seldom if ever heard, and without sustaining the name of a preacher, could visit from hut to hut, and tell the story of Jesus's dying love. O, thought I, in a sort of rapture, what a blessed privilege thus to spend my life in the service of Him, who has laid me under infinite obligation to be wholly His. Then, in imagination, I could welcome fatigue, hunger, cold, nakedness, solitude, sickness and death, if I might only win a few cottagers to my beloved Savior.
Not many months afterwards, I began to think of the Western Indians, and of laboring among them. Unfit as I considered myself to preach among civilized Christians, I rejoiced at the thought of laboring, and at last finding a grave in the forest. Time appeared short, the worth of a single soul, infinite. I have often said of that time, “O that it were with my spirit now as it was then!” Then I was a happy, though a very inexperienced youth. All these feelings I kept studiously concealed within my own breast, suffering not even my nearest friends to know how I felt; at the same time, I fervently and constantly prayed that God would employ me as his infinite wisdom should see fit.
In the course of the year 1821, I became more acquainted with the state of the Western Indians, and longed the more to labor for their good. And as I became more acquainted with the wants of Christian churches at home, as well as abroad, I began to feel that I must preach, unfit as I was. I would go into my closet, to weep there over the desolations of Zion. Sometimes, in visiting friends in destitute parts of my native state, I longed for the privilege of breaking to them the bread of life. My prayers for divine direction now became more constant and ardent. My soul was full of compassion and love to the Indians—it was full of love to the churches in America—it was full of love to Christ and the Gospel.
At length a new subject engaged my attention, viz:foreign missions. I had been in the habit of comparing the claims of the Eastern and Western missions; only I had not allowed myself to indulge a single thought of going to the East. It was now the spring of 1822, when I began to think of the hundreds of millions perishing in the Eastern world. Twenty millions dropping into eternity every year, without any knowledge of a Savior. The thought was overwhelming. I then began to consider the peculiar facilities for spreading the Gospel in the East—where the population is so dense—where so many speak the same language—where the language is written, and where the same religious opinions prevail so widely, etc. My mind was thrown into a new agitation. On the one hand, was my native country—partiality in favor of the Indians—unfitness for the Eastern mission;—on the other, the millions of heathen in the East, and the facilities which one might enjoy in spreading the Gospel among them…
I entered on my duties in college in October, 1822; but a few days only elapsed, before I became impressed more deeply than ever, with a sense of the perishing condition of the heathen, and of my duty to devote my life to their spiritual welfare. Sometimes I tried to ascertain the strength of my desire to become a missionary, (for I now had that desire,) by inquiring whether there was no station of ease, or emolument, or honor, with which I could be satisfied. But I could think of none. There was not a situation, either civil or ecclesiastical in America, which presented to my mind any temptation. So strongly did I desire to be preaching to the heathen, “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” The state of pagan nations became now, in a great measure, the burden of my prayers and meditations, and a favorite theme of conversation with religious friends. Still I did not mention to them any design of engaging personally in the missionary work. In fine, all my conduct, conversation, meditation, correspondence, and much of my reading, had some bearing on missions. One consideration only restrained my feelings; I felt too unholy and too worthless to be employed in such a holy work. Indeed, I felt unworthy to belong to Christ's visible kingdom, much more to sustain the important character of a missionary to the heathen. I feared that I should dishonor so holy a cause.
About this time, taking up a newspaper, I saw a notice of the sudden death of the ever to be lamented Rev. James Colman, missionary in Arracan, a province of India beyond the Ganges. Mr. Colman belonged to the American mission in Burma. I knew that Arracan, to which for prudential reasons he had just repaired from Rangoon, was a most inviting field for missionary labor, and all the friends of that mission supposed that Mr. Colman was exactly suited to occupy the place. But, alas! he is very suddenly cut off in the beginning of his career. “Who will go to fill his place?” “I'll go.” This question and answer occurred to me in succession, as suddenly as the twinkling of an eye. From that moment, my attention became principally directed to the Burman mission,from which it has never since been diverted. My desires to become a missionary so increased, that I felt it my duty to make them known to the President, who had been principally accessary to my appointment. He expressed a hope that I should not be called away, at least for the present. But my mind became more and more settled every day. I still prayed for divine direction, and the more I prayed, and the more I enjoyed of spiritual communion with God, the more I felt inclined, and the more I felt it my duty to become a missionary—and a missionary to the East.
Soon after, January 2, 1823, I visited Boston and vicinity, principally to converse on this subject with those who had the management of foreign missions. During this visit, several intimations of Providence greatly strengthened me in my previous convictions of duty; particularly a visit to Salem, where I had an interview with the present Assistant Secretary of the Baptist Board of Foreign Missions. That excellent man found what were my feelings, and said, that for three or four days, his spirit had sunk within him at the thought, that not an individual had as yet appeared to occupy Mr. Colman's place. As Providence ordered it, a number of ministers met at his house two days afterwards. I was present, and at their request, related the exercises of my mind. They encouraged me to go forward. It was then thought that I might sail in the course of four months, but God ordered otherwise in that particular.
My next step was to consult my family connections on the subject; and on visiting them, I found, to my joyful surprise, that their minds were quite prepared to hear me propose the subject. My parents had long thought that I seemed marked out for the missionary work; and my letters had convinced them that my mind had been not a little occupied on that subject. It is a singular fact, that my dear mother, from the moment I had experienced religion, had anticipated an event like this. Several of my family connections are pious, and their hearts have long been bound up in the missionary cause. All the objection they felt, arose from natural affection. That was strong. But in my parents, grace had sanctified those affections, which it neither could nor should destroy. The rest of the family yielded a weeping assent. Not long after I obtained the consent, and even the approbation of the President of the college.
It was now concluded that I should not sail for the present. This afforded opportunity to examine the momentous question anew. I now entered on a more formal examination of the subject than I had ever undertaken before. In about eight weeks, the General Missionary Convention, the Missionary Board, were to meet in the city Washington, and it seemed desirable, that if I ever offered myself, it should be at this triennial session.
I read the prophecies respecting the spread of the Gospel, and found they foretold that the knowledge of the Lord should cover the earth as the waters do the seas.” But how is this knowledge to be spread? The Apostolic, as well as more modern times, answered, “by men going abroad and preaching the Gospel, and in no other way.” But who shall go? Who shall send out missionaries? I could think of no nation but one, if even one, which possessed so great facilities. and was under so great obligations as our own. Thus I became convinced that the American churches ought to send out missionaries to the heathen. I next entered directly on the question, whether it was my individual duty to go as a missionary. That I had a desire to go, was a point long since settled. The points to be settled now, were, why I wished to be a missionary, and whether I possessed the requisite qualifications? On the latter question, I felt that my friends must decide, rather than myself. I was not conscious that there was any radical defect in my constitutional character.
As to my motives in wishing to enter the missionary work, I must be the sole judge, and that was the most difficult question. I sometimes hoped and thought, my motive was one of love to God, and a desire to glorify Him; at other times I feared it was the indulgence of an unsanctified fondness for distinction. On this subject I prayed much, and spent nearly a fortnight, coming, as it were, upon my motives unawares; for if I formerly undertook to examine them, I found they had the power of assuming false guises.
My Sabbaths, for about six weeks, I spent as seasons of fasting in relation to this subject. At length it pleased God to manifest His excellency and glory to me as He had never done before. He seemed to combine in His character all that was excellent, and lovely, and glorious. He appeared to fill all immensity with His glorious presence. He filled my soul. Then I experienced “joy unspeakable and full of glory.” I seemed to myself like a worm, and no man—I was lost in Him. As a mote floating in the air has no tendency to move against the stillest breeze, so I felt not the least inclination to act contrary to the gentlest movings of the Holy Spirit. I lost my own will in the will of God. I had been in the habit of writing the exercises of my mind briefly in a journal...
Such were my exercises for about six weeks; which time I devoted principally to an inquiry into my individual duty on the subject of missions. All this time I felt rather a growing and prevailing conviction that it was my duty to become a missionary. I have never been perfectly satisfied so as to have no doubts even to this day, though since the last date I have seldom wavered much. I conceive that in matters not revealed, we are to act according to prevailing evidence, for we can seldom attain to absolute certainty.
Under the date of Saturday evening, April 12, 1823, I find the following note in my journal: “I have at length come to a conclusion, and have written to the Corresponding Secretary, offering myself to the Baptist Board of Foreign Missions. O, that my offer may be received or rejected, according as its reception or rejection will most promote the glory of God and the welfare of souls.”
In my offer, I said I was willing to be sent whithersoever the Board should direct, though for some reasons I had a predilection for being sent to China, Palestine, or Burma. The Board accepted my offer, and soon gave me an appointment to Burma. There may I live, labor, and die.