Precious Lord, Take My Hand

I received this story from a friend today and thought it was worth sharing.

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 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 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. -Tommy Dorsey-

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 broken-hearted! Beautiful, isn't it?

Doggone It!

Today I am posting an e-mail I received from my son, Jeremy, the other day that is just too good not to share! Enjoy!!

I am currently dogsitting (and housesitting) in Bloomington. I've told a couple of you about the dog, named Maggie, who is so old, so blind, so deaf, and so almost-dead that each time I see her sleeping I have to watch really closely to see if she is breathing (and after last night, cross my fingers and hope that she has died.)
I arrived home around 10 last night. As usual, the dog had gone to the bathroom all over the kitchen. Great. "MAGGIE!!!!" I screamed, trying to rouse her from her nap, "IT'S TIME TO GO OUTSIDE... MAAAAAGGIE!!!" She doesn't move. I wonder if she is dead. She isn't.
12 AM: I am awakened at midnight from a deep sleep by a very loud and scary, methodical noise. My first irrational thought is, "Someone has broken in. This is OK." My second thought is, "Wait a second... what is that?" My third thought is, "Maggie. Stupid Maggie." I get out of bed and stagger into the hall to find Maggie standing in the hall with her head in the closet, wheezing louder than an old man with asthma. I touch her lightly and she stops making the horrendous noise. I pull her head out of the closet and try to lead her to her bed. After about 10 minutes we make it the 10 feet and it takes her 5 minutes to lay down. I wash my hands and go back to bed.
3 AM: I begin to wake. I hear a familiar noise. Groaning... loud groaning. I throw my angry legs over the bed and stalk down the hall to find her. I find her, standing into a corner, moaning. I touch her and she jumps... I wonder if I've given her a heart attack. I sort of hope I have. I lead her back to bed, and when I get there, I notice blood on it. Ugh. She won't lie down. In fact, she walks into the kitchen and towards the door. I race ahead of her and throw it open (so she won't walk into the glass). She stumbles outside, falls down a makeshift ramp that covers the stairs, and disappears into the darkness. I fall back into bed and fall asleep.
4 AM: I awake with a cringe. A blood-curdling noise is echoing in the night. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts, and try to expel the thought of driving to Wal-Mart, buying a shotgun, sawing it off, and shooting that damn dog. I resist. The pained yowl rises again... I stick my head out the door and yell as quietly as possible... "Maggie!" It doesn't work. At this rate the neighbors will be up in no time. I suppress my rage, run to my room, grab my pants and shoes, pick up a flashlight, and run into the backyard to find the dog. The beam pierces the darkness and I find... nothing. Where is she? I fight a couple of dating bushes and suddenly there is is, TRAPPED in the bush, yowling for help. I free her and lead her inside. On the way she trips UP the ramp/stairs but successfully locates the door. Walking down the hall, she finds her bed and stands in it. I try to sleep... no luck. I hear the dog. I look down and notice she is trying to stick her head inside my shoe. Whatever.
The sun rises and I'm up... again. Maggie has found a place to sleep and is doing so quite soundly. I step over her and find my shoes. I check my left shoe before pulling it on, remembering Maggie's curiosity... I quickly check my right shoe and then do a double-take. Strange piles of unknown substance have been deposited into my $70 shoe. I suppress more rage, pick a different pair, grab my keys, and leave the house for work.
Look for more, ADVENTURES WITH MAGGIE.
Also look for, MAGGIE'S LAST STAND and MAGGIE AND THE BUTCHER

Things I Want to Learn # 9

I want to learn how to arrange my perspective properly so that instead of reducing God to the size of my problems, I see God for who He is, thereby dwarfing my problems. God is God and there is none other. Nothing is impossible with God and nothing is even difficult for Him. He is omniscient, omnipresent, Creator of the universe and holds all things together by the Word of His power. He sees the past, the present and the future and has all our days numbered before we even existed. He knows what is best and can masterfully arrange the details of our lives to make sure the best is accomplished! God is HUGE and compared to the awesome greatness of God - my problems are NOTHING! There isn't such a thing as a big problem or a small problem with Him. He can just as easily raise the dead as find us a parking spot! AND He is utterly trustworthy and loves us with an everlasting love.

God, help me keep my perspective and see You for who you are!