Precious Lord, Take My Hand

Tommy A Dorsey - Take My Hand Precious Lord

As told by Mr. Dorsey:
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 Southside. 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 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 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 any more 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 the melody 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.

Written by Tommy A. Dorsey (1899-1993)

He also composed: Peace In The Valley, The Old Ship of Zion,
Walk All Over God's Heaven, On The Battlefield and Search Me Lord.

I do hope you enjoy your visit and
Please sign my guestbook before leaving.
Thanks and God bless!!

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The artwork is from Mary Crittenden
Please do not use without her permission.