THE BIRTH OF THE SONG 'PRECIOUS LORD'
Back in 1932, I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie
and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago's south side. One hot
August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis, where I was to be the featured
soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn't want to go. Nettie was in the
last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people were
expecting me in St. Louis. I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs
to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan
breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.
However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I
had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back. I found
Nettie sleeping peace-fully. I hesitated by her bed; something was
strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting
to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of
the room with my music.
The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to
sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with
a Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the yellow
sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.
People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep
from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could hear on
the other end was 'Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead.' When I got back, I
learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and
joy. Yet that same night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and our little
boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart.
For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I
didn't want to serve Him anymore or write gospel songs. I just wanted to go
back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in
that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I
went to St. Louis. Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. Was that
something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would
have stayed and been with Nettie when she died.
From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was
lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially one friend. The
following Saturday evening he took me up to Malone's Poro College, a
neighborhood music school. It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through
the curtained windows. I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to
browse over the keys.
Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could
reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, once into my
head that just seemed to fall into place:
'Precious Lord, take my hand,
lead me on let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn,
through the storm, through the night lead me on to the light,
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.'
The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit. I learned
that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from God, this
is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His restoring power.
And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully,
until that day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home.
-Tommy Dorsey-
For those too young to know who he is , Tommy Dorsey was a band leader in
the Thirties and Forties. Did you know that Tommy Dorsey wrote this song? I
surely didn't. What a wonderful story of how God CAN heal the brokenhearted!
Beautiful, isn't it?
Worth the reading wasn't it? Think on the message for a while.
Thought you might like to share this, I just did..
