The Cotton Adams Statue

Corky visits the Cotton Adams statue in Calico County. To read all about Cotton and his adventures just click on cotton adams in the labels section below. Then just keep scrolling down and follow the "older posts". It's Calvinistic history, I tells ya! 

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

Corky is Big in Tokyo

Cotton Adams Comic Book

The Journal of Cotton Adams #28

For your reading pleasure and demonstration of this technical marvel, I present the lastest edition of Cotton's Journal on the kindle2. It's easier on the eyes than your monitor screen. I hope to be able to purchase one of these this year, hopefully before Christmas and before a kindle3 comes out. Oh yeah, to read the above without eye strain, enlarge the picture by a single click.

Johnny Yuma WAS a Rebel

The Journal of Cotton Adams #14

July 15, 1739

In the early morn I rode my trusted steed, Calico, into a small town known as "Broken Bridge" or so I thought. When I crossed the small, rickety bridge over the Phlegm River, Calico and I fell through the rotten planks and into the cold water below. About half way down, in mid-air, I realized that the sign, "Broken Bridge", was a warning and not the town's name.

Shaken, but unharmed, I mounted my horse on the bank of the river and rode into the town of "Gnulife". Because of my firm belief that all of life is an illustration of the Gospel, and upon meditating on the frightful incident that had just occurred, I had three sermon ideas.

I began making notes on "Heeding the Signs", "Misinterpreting God's Warnings" and "Baptism - Symbol of Death, Burial and Resurrection into New Life".

The Journal of Cotton Adams #13

July 2, 1739

Just rode into Skintag, Kentucky where I breakfasted with the senior minister, Mr. Loogy Raman, a pious and friendly man. At six in the evening I began preaching in the church and with uncommon liberty of spirit. My sermon was to a church filled with Calvinists and entitled, "We Calvinists".
My first point of the message was, "We Calvinists should be better witnesses" and from there I expounded on spreading, not only the Gospel, but the whole counsel of God.
After ten minutes, I went to my next point which was, "We Calvinists should be better worshippers", since we are more in a frame of mind to be humble at the Grace God richly bestowed.
I followed that with, "We Calvinists should be better servants", when a tiny man in a kilt and a set of bagpipes wrapped around his torso stood up and yelled,
"Yew dinnae huv to single us out laddie! Be ye wee or be ye leviathan…it's still th' responsibility of us ALL!"
And with that, he started playing his bagpipes as he walked out the church and into the dark forest.
I learned two things that day.
One, to chose my words carefully so as not to be misunderstood by anyone.
And two, bagpipes act as a protection. It scares any and every animal away so that one is able to safely arrive home.
I think it may work on wicked highwaymen as well.

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

The Journal of Cotton Adams #7

May 3, 1738
Here I am come to recruit my strength after being confined for a fortnight with gout and fever, more than usually severe. While I was laid up, I drifted into, what I feel was a demonic attack in my weakened condition. I could not tell what was real or what was delusional.
The McDoogals, a kind family of eighteen who found me by the water well, brought me in and cared for me. At night, when all was quiet, except for a barn owl and a distant coyote, demons seemed to parade in front of me as puppets...speaking to me in a frightening fashion and with wee voices that chilled my blood. Outside the trees took on forms almost human and Calico, my faithful horse, seemed to have strings holding up his frame.
Once my fever broke, I discovered I had been chewing on some "loco weed" as I was writing in my journal. The McDoogals fed me a hearty breakfast and we had church there in the homestead. Mrs. McDoogal packed me a lunch in a rather large sack and placed it in my saddlebags. I witness a strange smile on her face as I galloped away.
I arrived in the nearby town of Ha-weeka-tonka-heeky (a native name meaning "laughing cloud rain on picnic") the next day. While visiting with a pastor there, I found to my surprise that the McDoogals were a family of ventriloquists! Immediately I examined my "lunch" sack and found a dummy that looked like Benjamin Franklin! I made a solemn vow never to return and I still have nightmares to this day.
I also am wearing a loco weed patch on my arm to take away the craving.

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