The Purpose of Sweating

I vividly remember a time when I’d close myself indoors to hide from the climbing temperatures outside. Although I lived out west and the air was dry, my tolerance for the sun’s presence was pretty pathetic. I was always seeking for cold, hissing at a wave of heat. I squinted at the sunshine outside my window, wondering when such a hell would pass and I could engulf myself in the freezing throng of winter again. I had a lot of reasons for feeling this way, but one in particular was that I hated the sensation of sweating.

Let’s go to last year. Biloxi, Mississippi. One of my favorite places on God’s green Earth. This is where Heavenly Father really challenged me physically. This was my first area where I shared a car. A lot of you who served foreign missions will probably roll your eyes and tell me I was pampered for even having a car, and honestly, you’re right. I was. At this point in my mission, I’d been blessed to have a car full-time in each area. But, in Biloxi, we shared two cars between three companionships. This mean I’d be driving for two weeks and then have nothing but my feet and my trusty bike for seven days before the cycle would start all over again.

Summer was just beginning. I was directly beside the suffocating presence of the Gulf Coast everyday. My hope was dwindling.

We lived across a long bridge, just outside of our area. Everyday we biked a mile or two from our apartment, to the bridge, across it, and into the small area where we were assigned to labor. The bridge wasn’t that bad—until the heat index reached 104.

We didn’t know it was like that when we left the apartment. I just knew the sun felt like it was two inches from my face. Heat blisters were already eating away at my feet where I stood beside my bike on the sidewalk. That day, it was hot. And I was okay with it.

My most vivid memory of that day was flying to an appointment we were going to be late for. The air was lukewarm, but felt amazing underneath the sizzle of June’s heat. I grinned the whole way, keeping my breaths even as my calves burned. That feeling was distant. I didn’t have time to feel it.

When we came to a screeching halt on the porch of our appointment’s house, reality began to set in—or the sweat did. Right on top of my skin.

Standing on their porch seeking shade, I lifted my arm to eye level. I could see tiny beads of sweat sitting atop the individual pores on my arm. My face was not exaggerating the phrase “dripping with sweat.” I was Niagara Falls. The next Wonder of the World. My shirt was tighter than when I’d left, only because it was so wet it was stuck to me.

My companion was horrified. I laughed.

I go on morning walks now. Sometimes those are afternoon walks, and those are the warmest walks. That’s the day I think of when the humidity here climbs. And when I’m walking and sweat is rolling down my eyebrows, I don’t reach to wipe it off—because I have never been sweatier than I was on that day.

I didn’t write this post to tell you about the natural coolant your body emits when it’s hot. I wrote this post to tell you about change.

I’ve written about that a lot on this blog. I’m sounding like a broken record at this point, but this thought has weighed heavy on my mind.

In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we partake of the Lord’s sacrament every Sunday. It is blessed by His authority and administered to us in remembrance of Christ’s body and blood. We partake of it to “always have the Spirit to be with us” as long as we “do always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given [us]” (Moroni 4:3; 5:2). This renews the promises we made at baptism (see Mosiah 18). It is an opportunity to seek guidance on how we are to improve every week. It is an opportunity to remember Jesus Christ in His fullness and repent.

Change. We are to change every week. To put aside those things we did to break our promises—whether we meant to or not—and do better.

As a missionary, I made goals every week to make myself better. My companion told me what I should do to improve. I frequently saw flaws in myself and actively worked with the Lord to change those things about me. It felt like I was running through change. The treadmill was always on the highest speed.

I feel like I’m on the lowest setting now. Like I’m barely jogging. My change is happening at a snail’s pace. I am repenting of the same things every week. It is driving me crazy.

I mentioned this concept to a friend the other day. I had an epiphany.

Change does not always happen in seven days.

I was not able to become more tolerant to the sensation of sweat in a week. That was a process that took a full year and a half. Something was wrong and through experience, I changed.

Make goals and change. Sometimes you will change in a week. But, most of the time, especially when you are home, when you are living your everyday life, change will come slower. Sometimes you are running faster than you think, but if you try to crank the speed on your treadmill too quickly, you will fall.

In the course of your change, seek diligently and consistently with Heavenly Father to know what you need to do. And if you do those things—no matter how fast or slow—you will change.

Be patient with yourselves.

Have a good week.