He was born in 1718, in a small Connecticut town—one of nine children in a strict Puritan household. His father died when he was just nine. His mother followed when he was only fourteen. Orphaned before adulthood, he seemed destined to drift quietly into obscurity.
But he was not quiet inside.
From an early age, he was consumed with a restlessness—one that had nothing to do with rebellion, and everything to do with eternity. He would write in his journal that even as a teenager, “I was exceedingly distressed at the sight of my sin.”
By his early 20s, he was studying theology at Yale. And for a while, it seemed the future was opening wide.
But then came the controversy.
During the fervor of a revival sweeping through the colonies, he was overheard making a passing remark about a professor—questioning the man’s spiritual sincerity. That small comment—spoken in private—was reported to school officials. And he was expelled.
He begged to be reinstated. Offered apologies. But the doors of Yale stayed shut.
So, the young man did what many would not.
He walked into the wilderness.
He believed God had called him to preach—to the forgotten, to the faraway, and most of all, to the Native American tribes who had never heard the gospel.
He was only 24.
He rode alone through forests and swamps. Slept in open fields. Endured bitter winters without proper shelter. He nearly died of starvation more than once. One account tells of him lying in the woods, drenched from rain, fevered, coughing blood—yet still praying for the salvation of souls.
He said, “I cared not how or where I lived, or what hardships I went through, so that I could gain souls to Christ.”
He battled tuberculosis for years. The disease ravaged his lungs and sapped his strength. Still, he kept riding. Preaching. Praying. Weeping.
His journal entries from this time read like psalms of suffering. He wrote things like, “I longed to be a flame of fire, continually glowing in the divine service and building up Christ’s kingdom.”
He did see fruit.
Among the Delaware and Susquehanna tribes, many came to believe. Some wept openly during sermons. Some began praying together and leading others to the truth they had once feared. For a time, it seemed as though Heaven had come down into the wilderness.
But the fire that burned in him was also burning him out.
At just 29 years old, he was taken into the home of a well-known pastor and theologian, who cared for him in his final months. There, he was visited often by the man’s daughter—a young woman he had once hoped to marry.
But he never recovered.
He died in 1747.
But that… is not the end of the story.
The pastor who cared for him? He was so moved by the young missionary’s journals that he edited and published them.
That book—“The Life and Diary of David Brainerd”—would go on to shape generations. William Carey, known as the father of modern missions, said it inspired his call. Henry Martyn, Robert Murray M’Cheyne, and Jim Elliot all carried the book with them into the field.
It has never been out of print since its first publication in 1749.
He once wrote, “Oh that I were a flame of fire in the service of my God!” And though he lived only 29 years, he burned so brightly that the glow still warms hearts nearly three centuries later.
His name?
David Brainerd.
And now you know the rest of the story.
