AFTER READING THIS I THINK YOU WILL BE SURPRISED AT WHAT YOU LEARNED. I
SURE DID NOT KNOW THIS. GUESS YOU DO LEARN SOMETHING NEW EACH DAY...
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?
SURE DID NOT KNOW THIS. GUESS YOU DO LEARN SOMETHING NEW EACH DAY...
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?
Worth the reading, wasn't it? Think on the message for a while.
Thought you might like to share this, I just did.
No comments:
Post a Comment