Early in his missiono, this man (let's call him Dave) and his missionary companion had a neighbor who was always drunk and mean to them. They would always see this neighbor on his porch, and he would hurl cuss words at them, which Dave didn't have translations for until later in his mission.
One day, Dave and his companion were out walking through town and they saw this man fall on the sidewalk. They noticed people continuing to walk past him, despite the gaping hole he now had in his head that, according to Dave, "was bleeding profusely."
The two missionaries walked up to him and Dave took off his tie, wrapped it around his hand and applied pressure to the wound per instinctual first aid instructions. There was a clinic nearby, and they asked the man if they could take him there. He refused and asked to be taken to his mother's instead. The elders complied and handed him over to his mother, who took him and nursed him.
According to Dave, they most likely saved this man's life.
The following day, Dave and his companion walked past the mother's home and saw their neighbor sitting outside. "It was the only time we saw him sober," Dave told us. Genuinely concerned for this fellow human, they walked up to the porch and asked how he was doing, if he was okay.
"He spit on me," Dave said with a tone that indicated he had told this story before.
I heard a woman in the congregation gasp in disbelief, and it wasn't me.
"We had most likely saved the man's life, and he spit on me. That tie was ruined and I had his blood on the sleeves of my suit. A part of him was with me for the rest of my mission."
Dave went on to compare this experience to how we, as humans, will sometimes act ungrateful for the gift of the Atonement.
I am sure a natural reaction would be to feel anger or indignance to this man. What kind of person spits on the person who saved their life?
I immediately felt compassion for this poor, distraught soul. He probably didn't want to be saved. Maybe he didn't feel that he was worth saving. I've been there. Not exactly there, but one of the primary reasons I didn't participate in self-harming activities when I was young was because I revered death and considered myself unworthy of it. Plain and simple, I wasn't worth killing.
Maybe that's how that man felt. Maybe he was angry that his life had been spared, and that's why he spit on poor Dave. I mean, think about it. He was probably trying to supress a memory with drink; soldiers and other PTSD victims often become alcoholics.
Honestly, I learned a lot not just from Dave's story, but from the way in which he shared it. He didn't sound angry when he talked about the man. He sounded like he had forgiven the man, and that he had done it rather quickly. (He mentioned some words of Isaiah about the Messiah being cast out coming instantly to mind, but I was listening with my heart instead of my ears today, so I don't remember which ones.)
And, after the week I had, it was exactly what I needed to learn.
I was just thinking about it, and I wondered if I would have learned the same lessons about forgiveness had the man expressed gratitude instead, and I think I would. But I wouldn't have gained the same understanding of my compassionate character, which I have also needed lately. Sometimes I feel my heart is smaller than it really is, and Dave's story was a nice reminder of the true size of my heart.
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