I doubt we will need a Super Duper Pooper Scooper I hope doggies don’t drool in heaven!! Or slobber like Danes and Mastiffs do. :wacko: Geri, the pet I'm holding in the picture is Roco. He is a mix of Manchester Terrier and Chihuahua. He was pet of the week at our local shelter. We got him 10 years ago, he's 17 years old and a good dog. They each have their own personality and their characters make them all lovable in different ways. It will be heavenly to see them all again at the same time. John Griffith, the Bridge Operator Many of you have probably heard this true story. I came across it again today and thought it worth retelling… John Griffith was in his early twenties. He was newly married and full of optimism. Along with his lovely wife, he had been blessed with a beautiful baby boy. He was living the American dream. But then came 1929—the Great Stock Market Crash—the shattering of the American economy that devastated John’s dreams. The winds that howled through Oklahoma were strangely symbolic of the gale force that was sweeping away his hopes and his dreams. And so, broken-hearted, John packed up his few possessions, and with his wife and his little son, headed East in an old Ford Model A. They made their way to the edge of the mighty Mississippi River and found a job tending one of the great railroad bridges there. Day after day, John would sit in the control room and direct the enormous gears of the immense bridge over the mighty river. He would look out wistfully as bulky barges and splendid ships glided gracefully under his elevated bridge. Each day, he looked on sadly as those ships carried with them his shattered dreams and his visions of far-off places and exotic destinations. It wasn’t until 1937 that John decided to take his son to work with him. His young son, Greg, was now eight years old. Excitedly, they packed their lunches and headed off towards the immense bridge. Greg looked on in wide-eyed amazement as his dad pressed down the huge lever that raised and lowered the vast bridge. As he watched, he thought that his father must surely be the greatest man alive. He marvelled that his dad could singlehandedly control the movements of such a stupendous structure. Before they knew it, noon time had arrived. John had just elevated the bridge and allowed some scheduled ships to pass through. And then taking his son by the hand, they headed off towards lunch. As they ate, John told his son in vivid detail stories about the marvellous destinations of the ships that glided below them. Enveloped in a world of thought, he related story after story, his son hanging on his every word. Then, suddenly, in the midst of telling a tale about the time that the river had overflowed its banks, he and his son were startled back to reality by the shrieking whistle of a distant train. Looking at his watch in disbelief, John saw that it was already 1:07. Immediately he remembered that the bridge was still raised and that the Memphis Express would be by in just minutes. In the calmest tone he could muster he instructed his son “Stay put.” Quickly, he leaped to his feet, he jumped onto the catwalk. As the precious seconds flew by, he ran at full-tilt to the steer ladder leading into the control house. Once in, he searched the river to make sure that no ships were in sight. And then, as he had been trained to do, he looked straight down beneath the bridge to make certain nothing was below. As his eyes moved downward, he saw something so horrifying that his heart froze in his chest. For there, below him in the massive gearbox that housed the colossal gears that moved the gigantic bridge, was his beloved son. Apparently Greg had tried to follow his dad but had fallen off the catwalk. Even now he was wedged between the teeth of two main cogs in the gear box. Although he appeared to be conscious, John could see that his son’s leg had already begun to bleed. Then an even more horrifying thought flashed through his mind. Lowering the bridge would mean killing the apple of his eye. Panicked, his mind probed in every direction, frantically searching for solutions. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself grabbing a coiled rope, climbing down the ladder, running down the catwalk, securing the rope, sliding down towards his son, pulling him back to safety. Then in an instant, he would move back down towards the control lever and thrust it down just in time for the oncoming train. As soon as these thoughts appeared, he realized the futility of his plan. Instantly he knew there just wouldn’t be enough time. Frustration began to beat on John’s brow, terror written over every inch of his face. His mind darted here and there, vainly searching for yet another solution. His agonized mind considered the four hundred people that were moving inextricably closer and closer to the bridge. Soon the train would come roaring out of the trees with tremendous speed, but this was his son…his only son…his pride…his joy. He knew in a moment there was only one thing he could do. He knew he would have to do it. And so, burying his face under his left arm, he plunged down the lever. The cries of his son were quickly drowned out by the relentless sound of the bridge as it ground slowly into position. With only seconds to spare, the Memphis Express—with its 400 passengers—roared out of the trees and across the mighty bridge. John Griffith lifted his tear-stained face and looked into the windows of the passing train. A businessman was reading the morning newspaper. A uniformed conductor was glancing nonchalantly as his large vest pocket watch. Ladies were already sipping their afternoon tea in the dining cars. A small boy, looking strangely like his own son, pushed a long thin spoon into a large dish of ice cream. Many of the passengers seemed to be engaged in idle conversation or careless laughter. No one even looked his way. No one even cast a glance at the giant gear box that housed the mangled remains of his hopes and his dreams. In anguish he pounded the glass in the control room. He cried out “What’s the matter with you people? Don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know I’ve sacrificed my son for you? What’s wrong with you?” No one answered. No one heard. No one even looked. Not one of them seemed to care. And then, as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. The train disappeared moving rapidly across the bridge and out over the horizon. Even now as I retell this story, I’m moved by emotion. For this is but a faint glimpse of what our Heavenly Father did in sacrificing his Son to atone for the sins of the world. Unlike the Memphis Express, however, a train that caught John Griffith by surprise, God in His great love and according to His profound will and purpose, determined to sacrifice his Son so that we might live. Not only so, but the consummate love of Christ is demonstrated in that He was not accidentally caught as was John’s son. Rather, He willingly sacrificed his life for the sins of mankind. Well, the story of course doesn’t end there. Three days later, Jesus arose from the grave. For this reason, we remember the broken body, the shed blood, the mangled remains of our Savior with joy, because Jesus overcame death and the grave through His resurrection. Moreover, like Jesus, we too shall rise. You, I, John Griffith, his son, and those who believe, we will live forever with our resurrected Lord in Paradise Restored. (I have searched all over for the past couple hours, even going back to whatever might have been the News of the day on this 1937 Mississippi tragedy, and have only found confusion between true and false, and many who heard it, traumatized by it. It seems it was a poem, a sermon illustration, and a movie was created by the Mormons, illustrating the story that can be found online. So far there is only speculation that it actually happened, although there is a definite correlation to Jesus sacrifice.) That's a beautiful bridge and picture!! Here's what Snopes has to say. The story is incredibly sad. I hope it was not factual, and is only an illustration. Snopes is notoriously hard core left wing so I don't give them much credence for being unbiased. Whether the story is true or simply allegorical, it is a beautiful picture of what God has done for us. The part that has always hit me like a train are the people who pay no mind to what was sacrificed. The same is true with people's cold and callused hearts towards God. On this side of eternity we will never come close to understanding the sacrifice that was made for us.
This is the updated bridge to the story of John Griffith that crosses the Mississippi River out of Memphis, TN. It no longer has the draw bridge section and ships can pass underneath without obstruction. No sacrifice necessary because the work was done. Just like Jesus' sacrificial work on the Cross was done. And now there is no obstruction to those who believe on Him!
I took this picture back in 2017 when I was in Memphis for work. I was struck by the engineering marvel that it is. But oh, how it pales by comparison to the engineering work that God has done for us!
https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/father-sacrifice-son-train-bridge/ 
