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 a friend, Professor
Fry, who seemed to know what I needed. On 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 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.

-Thomas Andrew Dorsey-(not the big bandleader)