Cotton Adams - Home At Last

April 26, 1761

Pastor Finn,

Thank you for the kind words in your letter. Even though, we haven't seen each other in more'n fifteen years, I still feel the friendship and brotherly love from your pen.

You asked about the time I saw the famous circuit riding Calvinist, Cotton Adams.

I will never forget the day he rode into our town. It caused quite a stir among the townsfolk of Sandy Ridge. To this day, people jaw about the foggy, Sunday morning when Cotton Adams appeared on horseback. The bridge over Sims Creek looked as if a cloud just decided to lay down on the river. It almost seemed like he was coming from Heaven, the way the clouds covered his horse, Calico, up to his knees.

Cotton Adams was quite famous in these parts, and we were all expecting his arrival that morning. Mr. Adams was to preach in the new Sovereign Grace Church building. The pastor, George Truman, was an old friend of Cotton's. Fact is, the Church was started because of Mr. Adams' strong sermon series on Heaven and Hell. He was returning to bless us with his spiritual leadership and promised to help with the selection of deacons. 

I can understand why our pastor broke into uncontrollable tears and moaning when he went to help Cotton down from his horse that early morn. You see, Calico had brought into our town, the lifeless body of a man who had sacrificed his worldly treasures for the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Cotton Adams must have gone to be with the Lord just hours before.

He had a well-worn hymnal in his hand, as was his habit of singing to the Lord as he traversed the acres of forests and farmlands between towns. He had hand-written one hymn that was found tucked in his saddle:

Depth of mercy, can there be

Mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God His wrath forbear?
Me, the chief of sinners, spare?
I have long withstood His grace,
Long provoked Him to His face;
Would not hearken to His calls:
Grieved Him by a thousand falls.

Chorus:
Depth of mercy, can there be
Mercy still reserved for me?
Bow Your ear, in mercy bow;
Pardon and accept me now.

There for me the Savior stands,
Shows His wounds and spreads His hands;
God is love, I know, I feel,
Jesus pleads, and loves me still.
Why to me this waste of love?
Ask my Advocate above.
See the cause in Jesus’ face,
Now before the throne of grace.

If I rightly read Your heart,
If You all compassion art,
Bow Your ear, in mercy bow;
Pardon and accept me now.
Now incline me to repent;
Let me now my fall lament:
Now my foul revolt deplore;
Weep, believe, and sin no more.

Cotton Adams, I only wish I could have heard your voice once more. Your singing alone, would bring conviction on the hurting souls who listened. Your presence seemed to be like one who had been with the angels of God. I know you are worshiping the living Savior, face to face now.

The township has decided to publish his journals and distribute them at cost. Preachers, of course, get a free copy to inspire your work in the Lord. My prayer is that they will bless many and remind all that our life is His and His alone!

Your friend,

Thomas Sawyer

Faye Rosehart Atheist

Corky at Mount Rushmore

Corky finally made it to Mount Rushmore near Keystone, South Dakota. He texted us and explained his delay was due to bad weather and his horse needing new shoes. He discovered that Payless Shoes didn't carry footwear for large, single-toed mammals.  

This magnificent Presidential Memorial is not to be taken for granite. It was an ideal place to drum up new members and talk to the Lakota Sioux about Calvinistic Cartoons.

Corky has asked that his future whereabouts not be mentioned beforehand. He wants to surprise readers with his places of destination so that the "game" is not compromised.

One individual approached Corky at Murphy's Bridle and Feed Store and said, "Cotton Adams is a Calvinist". That man, Tom Joad, received a check for one thousand dollars on the spot. That's the way this game is played. So remember to look for a man dressed like a giant grenade. He might be in your neighborhood tomorrow.

And please report any impostors that may be disguised as a Romans 9 grenade.

Thank you.

The Journal of Cotton Adams # 9

To his brother Clay, then a student at Yale college, New Haven.

Dear brother Clay, April 30, 1739.

I should tell you, "I long to see you," but that my own experience has taught me, there is no happiness, and plenary satisfaction to be enjoyed, in earthly friends, though ever so near and dear, or in any enjoyment, that is not God himself. Therefore, if the God of all grace would be pleased graciously to afford us each his presence and grace, that we may perform the work, and endure the trials he calls us to, in a most distressing tiresome wilderness where I am satisfied with but the memory of you. I also seem to remember you owe me twenty dollars.

I traverse in the most lonely melancholy desert, about ten miles from Motown, Kentucky; for the pending storm always makes me feel this way. I am now boarding with a poor Scotchman, Bagpipes McGee. His wife can talk scarce any English but, she plays the banjo like a monkey on a piano. Their home is very tidy and the lizards help keep the insect population to a minimum.

My diet consists mostly of hasty pudding, sunflower seeds and bread baked in the shape of a sundial. (If it gets cooked too long, they use it to tell time.) Sometimes I get a craving for an entire chicken and a basket of fries, a watermelon, a coconut pie and a pound of cheese.

I took time off from my circuit riding to catch up on my studies, sermon preparations and letter writing. I have prepared a sermon dealing with the pale horse in the book of Revelation who has power over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. I call it, "A One Horse Open Slay".

As I was in prayer just now, I realized you do not owe me twenty dollars. You owe me twenty five!

I remain,

Your affectionate brother,

Cotton Adams

Baklava Koos Koos #5

I was washing my feet in the murky waters of the Kuru River when I fell into a deep sleep. I found myself in a large, empty room with no roof, that seemed to be suspended in the clouds. Suddenly, there appeared in the center of the room, an earthen bowl with letters floating in broth. The letters spelled out the name, "Razzendahcuben". A door swirled into view and an angel stepped through with an immense, short-handled mallet. He spoke in a melodious whisper.

"This is for you Baklava Koos Koos".

Then he pointed to a box with several holes on the surface.

"Try and hit as many gophers as you can!"

Then, one by one, gopher-like dolls popped up only to descend again. I managed to hit thirty two out of forty (the number of testing). Lights starting flashing, bells rang out, little bits of multi-colored parchment burst from on high and floated down on my humble frame.

The angel pulled back a curtain that appeared out of nowhere revealing a horse.

"This is your prize! You have won an oats-mobile."

I awoke from my sleep and wept…for I had no prize…and my sandals were missing.

I think I might need some help in the interpretation. Do YOU have the ability to interpret dreams?

The Cotton Adams Statue

Little known fact: Cotton Adams came up with the "Alphabet Travel Game" while on horseback in 1747. You start with the letter "A" and find one on a sign, cattle brand, wanted poster, carving on a tree or grave marker, say the word and then move on to the next letter. You can do this as a self-challenging competition with a given time limit or together with a traveling companion. The first one to get to the letter "Z" is the winner!
Special thanks to Cha Cha Forester for sending me this photo.

The Journal of Cotton Adams #6

October 3rd, 1737
Don't know what I'd do without my horse, Calico. I will never forget the day Calico was acquired!
I remember finishing up a three week preaching engagement at Yeehaw Junction Primitive Baptist Church a little over a year ago. I had announced my intentions of starting a circuit riding ministry. I knew God would provide the transport if I would just step out on faith.
At the chicken and biscuit dinner that followed, I saw an old, leathery man with crossed eyes and a mole the size of Rhode Island make his way through the crowd."Cotton...my name is Zane Doodle. I have been a deacon here at this church as long as you've been breathing!"
"I am pleased to meet you, Deacon Doodle." I smiled and shook his hand.
"Well, you need a horse and I have one I want to give you! I won't take no for an answer."
It was an answer to my prayers, I thought."A horse is a curious animal, he eats best when he doesn't have a bit in his mouth." He chuckled at his own joke and slapped me on my back.
"C'mon, follow me out a ways!"
For some unknown reason he wanted to exit out a window in the rear of the building. We walked for a good forty or fifty minutes until we came upon an large, red barn that was in desperate need of repair."Now, go in there and pick the one that suits your fancy!"
Then Mr. Doodle bolted away, running as far as his skinny knee-britches would carry him. I could barely see him for the dust.When I entered the barn, I discovered hundreds of hand-painted, wooden horses and a dozen or so metal cows...yes, Deacon Doodle was one sandwich short of a picnic.
I walked eight miles to the town of Dry Fork and bought Calico for ten dollars from a Christian blacksmith named Lyman Meeps.

The Journal of Cotton Adams #5

July 27th, 1737
One thing about my old horse, Calico, you can fall asleep in the saddle and he keeps on traveling. Well, this afternoon, I did just that. I woke up near the town of Crittermill to the sounds of singing and shouting! There was a big tent in the distance with hundreds of people jumping and hollering at the top of their voices. Seems there was a self-proclaimed "miracle-workin', preacher man" by the name of Willy Poppit. He had a hand painted sign outside the tent which read, "Man, I Cure! The Willy Poppit Power-on-High Heaven-Sent Anointed Revival and Mobile Library". Another sign read, "Snake Handling 101" and on the tent itself, someone had written in bold red letters, "Name Your Poison…and I'll Drink it!" Baskets for money were being passed around as the white haired figure behind the pulpit was barking like a wounded dog on a trail drive. I think he knew who I was, for he made his way down, looked me in the face with his wild-eyed stare, and said…"Yabba Dabba Doo and YOU CAN TOO!" Then he started bouncing around, slapping people on the head. I had never seen the like. Suddenly, a wee Scotsman came in playing the bagpipes and the crowd scattered like blind field mice at a cat convention. A fire broke out and cattle stampeded, tearing down the tent as it burned. I barely escaped with my life. A few hours later, I rode ol' Calico back to that spot. Sadly, I found Willy Poppit's body face down in a nest of rattlesnakes and a note that read, "I drank the poiso…" I have never been able to find out what "poiso" is. It must be some kind of liquid refreshment or something. I buried him by a weeping willow near Cockroach Creek. Even though, he was a tad looney, I hope to see him someday. Less wild-eyed and snakeless.

The Journal of Cotton Adams #1

June 14th, 1737

I preached at Charleston, to abundantly more than the house could contain. The subject of my sermon was "Heavenly Horse Sense or the Ability to Say Nay". Some wag mentioned afterwards that he thought it was a very stable message.
As I was about to depart, a hairy, barrel-chested man asked if I would answer a question that has plagued him for some time. Without so much as a pause, he began to tell me, in detail, of his most unfortunate life. He told me incident after horrid incident. His wooden leg, it appeared, had acquired a nest of termites...he talked of his losing his glass eye during a hailstorm a mere two weeks before...he said his hair would catch fire during the monsoon season for no apparent reason...he sadly explained how his dog of eleven years had left him for another master...he mentioned how his entire forty acres of corn had popped during a heat wave last summer...he even ranted about his recurring dreams of golden plowshares and boll weevils.
After a full hour of his chronicles, I seized upon a pause in his loquacity...
"Sir," I implored, "what was your question?"
He cleared his throat, looked into my eyes, and asked, "What would you charge to perform a wedding this evening?"
"Ten pounds," I amiably replied.
He stared at me, emotionless, for what must have been three full minutes, twisted his tiny mouth and asked..."Ten pounds of what?"
It was at that moment I knew I was in the presence of a madman.