When we look at those who are willing to lead the way, we should admire them for their courage, not belittle them for their mistakes. They've blazed the trail, they've pointed out many dangers; we stand upon their shoulders.

Ann’s childhood was carefree and full of fun. Into her teenage years, she lived an outwardly moral but inwardly bankrupt life. She had room for parties and balls, but not for God, the giver of earthly pleasures.

Ann discovers the sad truth of the saying, “A sow that is washed returns to her wallowing in the mud.” (2 Peter 2:22)

A few sentences later, the dam gave way and she burst into tears. Her aunt tenderly asked what troubled her. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, Ann no longer cared if her aunt, her town, or even the whole world knew that she felt she was a sad and dejected sinner.

After a period of discouragement, followed by inner rebellion toward God, Ann finally came to a settled peace in her heart.

Some were supportive, but many thought that she was contemplating something “wild and romantic in the extreme, and altogether inconsistent with prudence and delicacy.”

“Had so long anticipated the trying scene of parting, that I found it more tolerable than I had feared. Still my heart bleeds. O America, my native land, must I leave thee?”

“It seems as if there was no resting place for me on earth. When shall I find some little spot, that I can call my home, while in this world?”

All is Egyptian darkness around us—not a glimpse of light.

He, like we, must have wondered why God allows such inefficiencies in the middle of kingdom service.

On July 5, 1818, Ann and the Houghs sailed down to the coast. As Rangoon disappeared behind her, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.