Sweating Out My Independence

On a recent hot day, my teammate and I went to the home of Yerlan, our language teacher. He and his mother wanted to teach us how to make dolmas, a local specialty made of grape leaves stuffed with rice and ground meat.

Kitchens here don’t have air conditioning, and so even before we started cooking, I was sweating. And not just a little bit. I’m talking about just-ran-a-few-miles-in-100%-humidity sweat.

I tried my best to discreetly wipe it away. But in the middle of explaining how to make the dolmas, Yerlan stopped and said to me, “Arwen, please.” He handed me a stack of napkins and nodded to the door.

I was drenched in just-ran-a-few-miles-in-100%-humidity sweat.

I excused myself to cool down in an air-conditioned room and wipe away the excess moisture. Then I returned to the kitchen to help the others stuff the grape leaves. But in that small kitchen, heated by both the stove and the sun, I felt the sweat dripping off my elbows again. There was no escaping my body’s natural cooling process.

Since my hands were covered in rice and oil, there was nothing I could do to stop the sweat. I prayed for my pores to close up so I didn’t drip onto the grape leaves, and I asked God to keep everyone else from noticing.

But Yerlan’s mother noticed. Giving me no time to respond, she picked up a napkin and gently dabbed at the beads of moisture streaming down my face. I laughed awkwardly and probably looked as mortified as I felt.

I wanted to protest. But with a smile and a few laughs, Yerlan insisted, “Arwen, please, let her help you.” Protesting would be futile.

As we returned to preparing dolmas, all sorts of thoughts ran through my mind: Wow, that was kind of his mother—and strange. Why do I sweat so much? That felt too intimate. No one has ever wiped my sweat before. I don’t ever want that to happen again.

Yerlan’s mother noticed. I laughed awkwardly and probably looked as mortified as I felt.

I knew that coming to the field to share the Gospel with Muslims would mean laying aside my independence. Still, I resist letting go—as any of us would.

Thankfully, God is gracious. He’s showing me that in my most weakened (and sweaty) state, His strength is perfect. He uses us in our weakness.

And sometimes that means letting someone dry the sweat off my face while I roll grape leaves.

This week in our language class, Yerlan taught us the names of different types of books, including religious ones. I handed him a New Testament in English and told him that he was holding a Bible. His eyes widened and sparkled.

“I’ve never seen a Bible before—much less held one!” he said. “I’d like to read this!”

The next day I brought him a copy in his own language. Pray for Yerlan, that he will open the Word and seek after the truth.