The idea of writing as oil has come to me. Last night it flowed, you might say. Can anyone relate? And at what stage of crushing might you be? Maybe the better question is, Who am I becoming?

An Olive becoming Oil

I am an olive, no, wait, that’s not right. I need to begin by saying, “I was an olive” but now I am oil. Of course, oil cannot be produced from just one olive but it takes many. We were many and we went through a painful process of crushing. I still shudder when I think about it. I don’t wish it on my worst enemy but I also wouldn’t want to go back to the way I was before. I was alone, hard and somewhat bitter, hanging on a tree branch, a place that had become quite comfortable for me.

When the harvester’s hands reached for me, I hung on with all my might and resisted.

“I shall not be moved,” I sang on top of my lungs, believing that I was firm in my faith and that I needed to defend myself against these forces that sought to dislodge me from my cozy place of comfort.

But I didn’t succeed in my attempt at self-preservation. I was plucked mercilessly and thrown into a huge basket with too many others. It got dark and uncomfortable really quick and I resented it. I had no idea at the time that this was only the beginning of a crushing that I had not invited nor welcomed. Indeed, these challenges I was facing now were like a death.

Together with the others we were ground into a paste. Yes, you heard right. Ground into a paste! All the layers of our individuality were stripped away until we were laid bare and revealed the core essence of our being. At the time I had no idea what the essence of my being was. I just felt raw and exposed and feared that no one would ever see me for who I really was – an olive. At least that had been my identity. I had already lost my place in the sun and now I was losing my identity, too. It was so confusing. I was sure I was losing my mind.

“Who am I?” was the big question. I learned that fighting against this was of no use. I had no choice but to yield. There was quite a bit of murmuring and complaining going on in that pile of ground paste. We were definitely too close for comfort. It was messy. Our lives got entangled and intertwined. All the things that had worked for me in the past no longer worked. In the olive grove I had enjoyed the gentle breeze of the wind. I was cared for and protected from anything that could harm me. I felt important and knew that my purpose was to grow and be productive. But at the height of my growth I was suddenly thrown into this process that didn’t make sense. I longed for the presence of the wind that often delighted me with sweet songs. Instead I had to endure the cold and hardness of the stone that mercilessly crushed me and the others.

When I didn’t think it could get any worse we were pressed even further. Then we were spread out onto large fiber disks that were piled onto each other. At this point I lost consciousness and I was told later that the pressure that was put on us was so strong that oil and water seeped out of us. Furthermore, we had to flow through a filter to leave any impurities behind and what remained was a clear yellowish oily liquid.

The workers who did all this to us talked among each other and I overheard some phrases that made me wonder. I heard things like pure, desirable and valuable. I had no idea that I had carried droplets of oil within me all along. It took all this work to extract the oil but now that I was no longer a single olive but a part of oil I felt something had shifted within me. A new identity had emerged and with it came a clearer understanding of purpose.

Becoming oil had been tough but now united with many others we discovered a new purpose. Together we would be used for all kinds of wonderful things, such as

cooking, lighting, perfuming, anointing, beautifying skin, in the making of soaps and in healing wounds. We were even referred to as “liquid gold” and as “the great healer.”

Some of us were dispatched one day to assist a Samaritan man who came upon a man who had been beaten by robbers. It was a good thing he had us with him that day because he poured us into the man’s wounds so we could do our healing thing. Wine was also present that day. They were used to cleanse the wounds. Wine had to go through a similar crushing and they also had a story to tell. We were not in competition but each one did what was needed that day. For us, the oil, it felt so good to bring soothing to these wounds.

You might have noticed that I don’t refer to myself as a lone olive anymore. It has become a thing that we do together and not one olive can boast in it. I am part of a greater substance and in losing my single solitary life I have found a life that is much richer and more fulfilling than I could have ever dreamed of.

2 Corinthians 4:8-10 The Message Bible

We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken. What they did to Jesus, they do to us—trial and torture, mockery and murder; what Jesus did among them, he does in us—he lives.

By Conny Hubbard

October 2024

The photo below was taken by my sister Lydia in Mallorca. It’s a very old olive tree. What do you see?