Thank you to Cousin Ronnie for sending this!
Who wrote the song "Precious Lord"? I was very surprised to find out who it was.
THE BIRTH OF THE HYMN "PRECIOUS LORD"
Back in 1932, I was 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 goodbye,
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 peacefully. 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 Maloney'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 in my head they 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
well-known band leader in the 1930's and 40's.
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?
