The Squeezing of an Olive

Growth is often romanticized as a graceful, effortless unfolding. But the truth is, growth is rarely gentle. It’s a process of being pressed, stretched, and shaped in ways that feel almost unbearable—like the squeezing of an olive to release its oil. And yet, it is in this pressing that the true essence of the olive, and of ourselves, is revealed.

I found myself in this pressing, a space where life seemed determined to crush every part of me that I thought I needed. Each trial bore down with relentless force—illness stripping me of my vitality, spiritual battles challenging my beliefs, and the weight of my past pressing against my future. At times, I felt as though I might break, unable to withstand the pressure. But the strange thing about this process is that it doesn’t destroy you; it transforms you.

As an olive is crushed under the weight of the press, its oil flows forth, pure and golden. This oil is not just a product of the process—it is its purpose. In the same way, I began to understand that the trials pressing against me were not random acts of suffering but deliberate acts of refinement. They were revealing something hidden deep within me, something that could only emerge through the intensity of the struggle.

The pressing was slow and deliberate, requiring patience I didn’t think I possessed. It wasn’t a single moment of pain but a continual process, wave after wave of pressure that forced me to confront parts of myself I would rather have ignored. My fears, my doubts, my attachments—they all surfaced, demanding to be acknowledged and released. It was as if the pressing was peeling away layers, stripping me of everything unnecessary so that what was essential could finally shine through.

This duality of pain and peace was striking. There were moments when the crushing felt unbearable, the weight too heavy to carry. But in those moments, there was also a strange sense of calm, a reminder that this process was not without purpose. Just as the oil of the olive is used for healing and anointing, the revelations that came through my pressing began to heal parts of me I hadn’t even realized were broken. They reminded me that my struggle was not just for myself but for something greater—a purpose that extended beyond my own healing.

As I reflected on this, I realized that the pressing was teaching me surrender. It wasn’t about resisting the pressure or trying to escape it but about allowing it to shape me, trusting that what emerged would be better than what was left behind. This surrender wasn’t easy—it felt like losing control, like giving up. But in reality, it was the most powerful act I could take, because it allowed the process to do its work.

Now, as I look back, I see the beauty in the crushing. I see how it revealed strength I didn’t know I had, how it connected me to a deeper understanding of myself and my purpose. The pressing wasn’t just about what it took away; it was about what it gave me. It gave me clarity, resilience, and a connection to something greater than myself. It gave me the courage to keep going, even when the weight felt too heavy.

In the end, the squeezing of the olive is not an act of destruction but of creation. It is a process of transformation, one that reminds us that within every trial lies the potential for something beautiful, something sacred. And as I continue on this journey, I hold onto that truth, knowing that even in the pressing, there is purpose.

Olive Press