THE BIRTH OF THE SONG '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 good-bye, went downstairs to our Model A car, and in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, I chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.
Once outside the city, I discovered that in my hurry to leave, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back to get it.
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 her, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music case in hand
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 it open. 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 little boy. My mood swung between grief and joy.That same night, the baby died too. I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart. For days I grieved. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him anymore or to write gospel songs. I just wanted to go back to the jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first few sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I had returned for my music case . Something kept telling me to stay there with Nettie. Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with her when she died.
From that moment on, I vowed to listen more closely to God. 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 into 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 Him, this is when He is the closest to us. Thats when we are most acceptable to His healing powers.
And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until the day comes, when He will take me and gently lead me home.
Signed
Tommy Dorsey

PS: 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 this message for a while.
Thought you might also like to share this with your friends, I just did.