Life has a strange rhythm one that rarely dances to our timing. We want the light, but not the heat. We crave the shine, but not the refining. We want the oil, but not the crushing. Yet, no olive ever produced oil without first being pressed.
There’s a sacred rhythm to growth and it’s never instant.
We live in a world that worships speed: fast success, fast fame, fast results. But the truth is simple, unchanging and timeless , anything that comes too quickly rarely lasts.
Every masterpiece was once a mess in progress. Every diamond was once a piece of coal buried deep in darkness. Every bottle of oil came from an olive that was crushed until it surrendered its essence.You cannot get the oil without the press.You cannot get greatness without the grind.You cannot get purpose without the process.
The Waiting Season.Everyone loves the glory, but no one celebrates the process.
It’s easy to admire the finished product, but no one claps for the shaping, the stretching, the silent nights when it looked like nothing was working.
But here’s the thing: the process is not punishment. It’s preparation.
That delay? It’s not denial it’s development.
That silence? It’s not neglect , it’s strategy.
That waiting period? It’s where your roots grow deep enough to carry the weight of your future harvest.
If you rush the process, you ruin the purity of what’s being formed in you.
Because what takes time to build, stands the test of time.
The Crushing Season
Think about the olive. It doesn’t produce oil when it’s whole. It produces only when it’s crushed.
Crushing hurts. It breaks your plans. It bruises your pride. It makes you question your worth.
But the crushing isn’t there to destroy you it’s there to reveal you.
When life presses you, what comes out of you? Bitterness or brilliance? Complaints or character?
Pressure doesn’t create weakness it exposes substance.
The crushing season separates those who are hungry for attention from those who are hungry for growth.
It’s in the dark room that photographs develop, and it’s in the crushing room that destinies are refined.
Don’t Rush It
Stop comparing your chapter one to someone else’s chapter twenty.
Stop scrolling through highlights and calling it reality.
You can’t microwave destiny — it takes the slow heat of endurance, discipline, and faith.
You want to be gold? Then you must endure the fire.
You want to shine like oil? Then you must endure the press.
You want to stand tall like a tree? Then your roots must first wrestle with the soil.
Let the process break you, because that’s how it will build you.
Let time do its perfect work. Don’t rush to be seen be built.
Because being seen too early can destroy what hasn’t been strengthened.
The Birth of the Oil
When the oil finally flows, it’s not just a symbol of blessing , it’s a testimony of survival.
You’ll realize that the pressure didn’t come to crush your spirit; it came to crush your limits.
The pain didn’t come to end you; it came to extract your potential.
Your oil , your strength, your anointing, your uniqueness , is born in your darkest moments.
So embrace the tears, the silence, the waiting, the unknown. You are being pressed for purpose.
Every disappointment is refining your focus.
Every rejection is redirecting your destiny.
Every loss is making room for something far greater than what you imagined.
Don’t rush what’s divine.
Don’t force what’s forming.
Don’t abandon what’s building you just because it’s uncomfortable
And that’s where this story begins…
The Story of Justin
Justin grew up in a small coastal town called Everbrooke a quiet place where the waves whispered dreams, but reality often drowned them. His mother sold bread by the roadside, and his father worked long hours at the docks. Life was modest, but Justin carried something fierce in his heart a hunger to become more.
He wasn’t the smartest in class, nor the most connected. He didn’t have the privilege of opportunity, but he had something stronger: vision. He would tell his mother, “Someday, I’ll make this name mean something.” And she’d always smile and say, “Then let life make you first.”
At the time, Justin didn’t understand those words. But soon, he would.
The Crushing Season
At twenty one, Justin got his first big break a scholarship to study engineering abroad. It was everything he had prayed for. He packed his dreams into a single suitcase and left Everbrooke with a smile wide enough to light up the night.
But dreams don’t always bloom easily.
Two months into his stay, tragedy struck. His father passed away suddenly. The news shattered him. He couldn’t afford to fly back home, and he felt the world collapse under the weight of guilt and helplessness.
To survive, Justin worked night shifts cleaning offices and delivery trucks. The cold air often bit through his clothes, but what hurt more was watching his classmates drive fancy cars while he walked miles through snow to make a living. There were nights he’d cry silently while scrubbing floors, wondering if his dreams were a lie.
He thought, “Why me? Why does life keep pressing me?”
But what Justin didn’t know was that every press, every tear, every sleepless night was producing oil—the kind of strength no classroom could teach.
The Refining Process
After graduation, Justin applied for jobs. Hundreds of them. Rejected every time. Some didn’t reply, some said he lacked experience, others didn’t even open his application.
He began to doubt himself. He thought about giving up. But then one evening, while walking past a small olive shop, he saw something that changed his life.
An old man was pressing olives through an ancient wooden press. The oil flowed slowly, thick and golden. Curious, Justin asked, “Why don’t you just squeeze them faster? Wouldn’t it be easier?”
The old man smiled and said,
“If I rush the process, I ruin the oil. It must be crushed slowly, so what’s inside comes out pure. Only pressure reveals quality.”
That sentence pierced through Justin’s heart like a revelation.
He realized his crushing wasn’t his end, it was his refining.
From that day, he changed his mindset. Instead of fighting his pain, he started learning from it. He read books on leadership. He volunteered for unpaid projects to gain experience. He helped startups fix broken systems, often for no pay, just to sharpen his skills.
Every rejection became a redirection. Every delay became a preparation. Years later, Justin founded a small tech company from his one-room apartment. He named it CrushLabs, a reminder of where his strength was born. He built solutions that helped small businesses automate operations.
His first product failed. His second one barely broke even. But his third? It exploded across industries. Within five years, CrushLabs became one of the fastest-growing tech firms in his country.
When journalists asked him how he succeeded, Justin smiled and said:
“Because I didn’t skip my crushing season. That’s where I found my oil.”
Sometimes, life will press you until you think you can’t breathe. It will take away your comfort, your applause, and your shortcuts. You will feel invisible, unwanted, and unqualified. But remember this you are in the press, not the pit.
The same hands that allow the crushing are shaping the calling.
The olive doesn’t produce oil when it’s whole it produces when it’s broken. So don’t despise your breaking. Don’t rush your process. Don’t compare your season of preparation to someone else’s season of celebration.
You’re being prepared for something weightier. Something eternal. Something worth the wait.
You may not see it now, but one day, you’ll look back and realize that every sleepless night, every no, every delay was necessary. Because greatness without process collapses under pressure.
If you’re in your crushing season, hold on. The oil comes after the pressing.
Don’t curse the struggle it’s teaching you endurance.
Don’t hate the silence it’s building your focus.
Don’t rush the process because what’s being formed in you is sacred.
When the time is right, your oil will flow effortlessly. Your gift will shine without strain. Your story will heal others who are still being pressed.
Because the truth is timeless the oil only comes after the crushing.
And just like Justin from Everbrooke, you’ll one day stand tall, look back, and say,
“I didn’t break. I became.”
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