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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 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, one 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.
As 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/ "The Birth of "Precious Lord" by Tommy A. Dorsey, GUIDEPOST
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THE CHOSEN VESSEL
The Master was searching for a vessel to use; On the shelf there were many - which one would He choose? Take me, cried the gold one, I'm shiny and bright, I'm of great value and I do things just right. My beauty and luster will outshine the rest And for someone like You, Master, gold would be the best!
The Master passed on with no word at all; He looked at a silver urn, narrow and tall; I'll serve You, dear Master, I'll pour out Your wine And I'll be at Your table whenever You dine, My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true, And my silver will always compliment You.
Unheeding the Master passed on to the brass, It was widemouthed and shallow, and polished like glass. Here! Here! cried the vessel, I know I will do, Place me on Your table for all men to view.
Look at me, called the goblet of crystal so clear, My transparency shows my contents so dear, Though fragile am I, I will serve You with pride, And I'm sure I'll be happy in Your house to abide.
The Master came next to a vessel of wood, Polished and carved, it solidly stood.
You may use me, dear Master, the wooden bowl said, But I'd rather You used me for fruit, not for bread!
Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of clay. Empty and broken it helplessly lay.
No hope had the vessel that the Master might choose, To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.
Ah! This is the vessel I've been hoping to find, I will mend and use it and make it all Mine. I need not the vessel with pride of its self; Nor the one who is narrow to sit on the shelf; Nor the one who is bigmouthed and shallow and loud; Nor one who displays his contents so proud; Not the one who thinks he can do all things just right; But this plain earthy vessel filled with My power and might.
Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay. Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day. Spoke to it kindly. There's work you must do, Just pour out to others as I pour into you.
This really sums up what the Lord God Almighty wants from us. Not to be proud and loud and think we can do it on our own, but to be humble servants and let him work in us and through us.
1 Peter 5:5-7 says, Young men, in the same way be submissive to those who are older. All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, "God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble." Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
Please do not think that God cannot use you. He is looking for those who humble themselves and seek after him. He is able to make and shape you into the best vessel imaginable.
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