I just read the following essay, and really appreciated it. The essay was written by a Buddhist monk about his experience at the deathbed of a man he did not know. The story really struck me as an example of working at being compassionate, as a flawed human being. This kind spiritual story is really valuable to me, as it is about working toward being the kind of person one wants to be, rather than expressing condemnation for not already being that.
I hope that someone else finds it meaningful!