Readability: 1
Length: 508 pp
Author: Courtney Anderson
Simply, To The Golden Shore is one of the best biographies I’ve ever read. Adoniram Judson was the first foreign American missionary. He labored in Burma for 38 years, translated the Bible into Burmese, lost two wives and seven children, and endured a horrible prison sentence of 17 months all for their joy in Christ. May these few tidbits encourage you to get outside of your little world, realize God’s plan for the peoples, buy the biography, and reorient your life toward the joy of all peoples in Christ.
A letter of courtship to the father of his first wife Ann:
I have now to ask, whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean, to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death. Can you consent to all this, for the sake of him who left is heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion, and the glory of God? Can you consent to all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with the crown of righteous, brightened with the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Savior from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?
Ann Judson on the loss of their second child, Roger Williams:
Our hearts were bound up with this child; we felt he was our earthly all, our only source of innocent recreation in this heathen land. But God saw it was necessary to remind us of our error, and to strip us of our only little all. O, may it not be vain that he has done it. May we so improve it that he will stay his hand and say ‘It is enough.’
A letter from Adoniram to missionary widow and later second wife Sarah Boardman
My DEAR SISTER: — You are now drinking the bitter cup whose dregs I am somewhat acquainted with. And though, for some time, you have been aware of its approach, I venture to say that it is far bitterer than you expected. It is common for persons in your situation to refuse all consolation, to cling to the dead, and to fear that they shall too soon forget the dear object of their affections. But don’t be concerned. I can assure you that months and months of heartrending anguish are before you, whether you will or not. I can only advise you to take the cup with both hands, and sit down quietly to the bitter repast which God has appointed for your sanctification. As to your beloved, you know that all his tears are wiped away, and that the diadem which encircles his brow outshines the sun. Little Sarah and the other have again found their father; not the frail, sinful mortal that they left the earth, but an immortal saint, a magnificent, majestic king. What more can you desire for them? While therefore your tears flow, let a due proportion be tears of joy. Yet take the bitter cup with both hands, and sit down to your repast. You will soon learn a secret, that there is sweetness at the bottom. You will find the sweetest cup that you ever tasted in all your life. You will find heaven coming near to you, and familiarity with your husband’s voice will be a connecting link, drawing you almost within the sphere of celestial music.
Emily’s recollections of a speaking engagement in the states where Adoniram simply preached the gospel:
As he sat down it was evident, even to the most unobservant eye, that most of the listeners were disappointed. After the exercises were over, several persons inquired of me, frankly, why Dr. Judson had not talked of something else; why he had not told a story…
On the way home, I mentioned the subject to him.
‘Why, what did they want?’ he inquired; ‘I presented the most interesting subject in the world, to the best of my ability.’
‘But they wanted something different… a story.’
‘Well, I am sure I gave them a story… the most thrilling one that can be conceived of.’
‘But they had heard it before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the antipodes.’
‘Then I am glad they have it to say, that a man coming from the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of Jesus’ dying love.’
Some of his last words to his third wife Emily:
‘It is not because I shrink from death, that I wish to live; neither is it because the ties that bind me here though some of them are very sweet, bear any comparison with the drawings I at times feel towards heaven; but a few years would not be missed from my eternity of bliss, and I can well afford to spare them, both for your sake and for the sake of the poor Burmans. I am not tired of my work, neither am I tired of the world; yet when Christ calls me home. I shall go with the gladness of a boy bounding away from his school. Perhaps I feel something like the young bride, when she contemplates resigning the pleasant associations of her childhood, for a yet dearer home—though only a very little like her – for there is no doubt resting on my future.’
‘Then death would not take you by surprise,’ I remarked, ‘if it should come even before you could get on board ship.’ ‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘death will never take me by surprise – do not be afraid of that—I feel so strong in Christ. He has not led me so tenderly thus far, to forsake me at the very gate of heaven. No, no; I am willing to live a few years longer, if it should be so ordered; and if otherwise, I am willing and glad to die now. I leave myself entirely in the hands of God, to be disposed of according to his holy will.’
No Other Boast 