[This chapter is from the book “Lives of the Three Mrs. Judson’s” listen to the full audiobook here.]
In the spring of 1829, Mr. Boardman and his family embarked on a brief journey by sea to improve their health. Mrs. Boardman had recently suffered another bout of illness, and their young son, George, was delicate and weak. In fact, the only one in the family who seemed to be in good health was their first child, the darling Sarah, with her plump, rosy cheeks. She was her mother’s greatest joy and pride, and yet, in the eyes of God, she was also her mother’s idol. The loss of this beloved child was a devastating blow, but faith reassured her that it was delivered by the loving hand of a Father.
Sometime later, she shared in a letter:
“My ever dear Sister, it has been nearly eight months since our beloved Sarah passed away, and I haven’t written to you since then. I’ve never gone this long without writing to you. For a while after her passing, it seemed little George was also close to leaving us, and I was bedridden for several weeks. Just as I began to recover, the uprising in Tavoy occurred, plunging us into chaos. This turmoil lasted until I fell ill again, about three months ago. I am only now beginning to recover. So, you can see, my dear sister, my circumstances have made it difficult to write. But that’s not all. For some time after losing Sarah, I was too heartbroken to even think of writing. I was certain that God had taken her in love, and I knew she was now a joyful angel in heaven. However, the thought of never seeing her on earth again filled me with indescribable grief. Gradually, my mind found peace; not that I forgot her, but I realized, my dear Harriet, the deepest joys of this life are fleeting and leave us wanting. I no longer seek comfort in them as I once did. We have a strong, healthy boy now, but I’m careful not to idolize him as I did his dear sister. In her death, we witnessed the loss of what was most precious and beautiful, a lesson that seems to guard us against ‘worshipping the creature'”
In another letter from around the same time, details about the child’s illness and passing were shared:
“Our little Sarah left us on July 8th last year, at the age of 2 years and 8 months. She was an exceptionally beautiful child, with bright blue eyes, yellow hair, and rosy cheeks, which made her stand out vividly against the darker complexions around her. From the moment she became aware of her surroundings, she showered us with her deepest affection. The thought of displeasing us distressed her greatly, and she wouldn’t find peace until she had apologized and received a forgiving kiss. She had learned to follow our directions without question. Whenever either of us was sick, she would gently caress our foreheads with her tiny hand and offer her tender kisses. Her love for her little brother George knew no bounds. From his birth until just two days before she passed, she adored him above all else. Three days before she died, as she lay uncomfortably in a large swing cradle and George was crying in the same room, we thought placing him next to her might comfort both, as he too was very ill. Delighted by the idea, she smiled, opened her little arms wide, and for the last time, embraced her beloved brother with all the love she had. This moment of joy seemed to momentarily ease her own suffering.”
“Little Sarah had an impressive command of languages for her young age. She spoke English exceptionally well and Burmese as fluently as any native speaker. Additionally, she could express herself in Hindostani and Karen to some extent. What’s remarkable is that she never mixed the languages; she always spoke pure English with us and pure Burmese with the Burmese people. This ability to differentiate lasted as long as she could speak. She had memorized the Lord’s Prayer and several short hymns. The verses by Dr. Judson on Mee Shawayee’s passing were known to her by heart in Burmese, and she would often sing them for extended periods. “
“These memories might seem minor to others, but I find myself reflecting on them for hours. It’s only when I try to think more objectively that I convince myself these details might not hold interest for anyone else. Yet, I cherish the thought of my precious child, a ‘sweet bud of immortality,’ blossoming so gracefully before me. From these small glimpses, I imagine the full magnificence of her spirit, like anticipating the bloom of a perfect flower from its promising beginnings.”
“A few hours before she died, she called us to her, kissed us, and passed her dear hand, still full and dimpled as in health, softly over our faces. The pupils of her eyes were so dilated that she could not see us distinctly, and once, for a moment or two, her mind seemed to be wandering; then looking anxiously into my face, she said: ‘I frightened, mamma! I frightened!’ … Oh with what feelings did I wash and dress her lovely form for the last time, and compose her perfect little limbs; and then see her—the dear child that had so long lain in my bosom—borne away to her newly-made grave. My heart grew faint when I thought that I had performed for her my last office of love; that she would never need a mother’s hand again.”
“My dear husband conducted the funeral service with a heart full of sorrow, yet not without hope. The burial site is within our own property, about fifteen rods away from our home, nestled in a secluded spot surrounded by a grove of Gangau trees. Close by, there is a small sanctuary we built for private prayer. To this place we have frequently gone, seeking solace and communion. We believe that God, in His boundless wisdom who called our precious child to Himself, often joins us there, offering comfort and peace.”
The person who wrote the biography of Mrs. Boardman, who also succeeded her in the mission, pointed out that Mrs. Boardman once held a slight misconception in her faith regarding God’s direct involvement in our lives. She struggled with the idea that the God who orchestrates the grand movements of the universe could also concern Himself with the trivial aspects of human existence, such as counting the hairs on our heads or monitoring the fall of a sparrow. This perspective made her question whether such minute attentiveness was beneath the dignity of the “Majesty of heaven and earth.”
However, the profound loss she experienced—the death of her child—radically changed her outlook. Through this painful event, she vividly saw the hand of a loving Father disciplining His child. She deeply felt that she had been corrected for valuing God’s gift (her child) more than God Himself, the Giver. This realization led her to a powerful and unshakeable belief that even the smallest details of her life were under God’s watchful care and direction, just as much as the vast expanse of the starry sky. She understood that her personal growth in faith and the specific means by which it was achieved were meticulously planned by God’s sovereign grace and wisdom. From that moment on, Mrs. Boardman never again doubted God’s intimate involvement in every aspect of her life.
It’s appropriate now to elaborate on the profoundly moving events that took place a few months following the child’s passing, events which were hinted at in the first of the two letters mentioned earlier.