I remember years ago being admitted to University Hospital (at University of Utah) in Salt Lake City for neurological testing. The room adjacent to mine housed two male convicts who were chained to their hospital beds. The officer guarding the door outside their room could be seen in the view from my own bed. He occasionally peeked in with a smile, and made sure I recognized my own safety in the circumstance. I trusted that I was in good care.
Occasionally, I would be guided by the nurse to walk the halls so the injections from spinal scans could dissipate through my tissues. On one round of walking, I recall taking a glance into the temporary prison cell. My eyes briefly made contact with both criminals lying in their beds. An overwhelming desire came over me. I should have been afraid, but I wasn't...initially.
At that moment I yearned to sit down next to them and assure each how much their Heavenly Father loves them. I wanted to hear their stories; I wanted to understand what led to their current states of existence, and to ultimately teach them a better way.
But as with most conflict, I waited too long and thought too logically until the opportunity to approach them passed. Instead of acting on my prompting and asking permission to visit the two criminals, I ignored the feeling and turned my gaze away from them. Later, I was discharged and gone.
For many years, I regretted not acting in that moment. Every one of us is a criminal, a sinner in mortality. Imagine if Christ had turned his gaze from me and, in essence, left me chained to my bed. The thought is unbearable...