Key Scriptures: Psalm 23:4; John 15:2; Romans 5:3–5; James 1:2–4; Philippians 3:10; Isaiah 64:8
One of the most painful seasons of my life came during a disastrous relationship back in the ’90s. The details aren’t important anymore. What matters is what God did in the middle of the wreckage.
I remember the Lord speaking so clearly to my heart: “If you’ll just do what I’m telling you to do, I’ll take care of everything else.” That’s all I needed. It wasn’t that everything suddenly got easier. It didn’t. But something inside of me changed. Fear began to lose its grip, and Psalm 23 became more than words on a page: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4
I wasn’t camping in the valley. I was walking through it.
Looking back now, I realize heaven was navigating every step. God wasn’t giving me the whole blueprint. He was giving me the next step…then the next…then the next. Every decision became another opportunity to trust Him. What amazes me is that while one area of my life seemed to be falling apart, God was opening ministry doors faster than I could walk through them.
Some people might have thought God was simply keeping me busy so I wouldn’t think about my pain. Not at all. He was equipping me. I found myself involved in jail ministry, hospital visitation, home groups, discipleship—things I had never imagined I’d be doing. In fact, the very day my relationship was coming apart, my pastor had already blessed and commissioned a friend and me to begin what today we’d probably call a home church. We had this ragtag group of people God had entrusted to us. None of us had it all together, but God did.
Isn’t that just like Him? While I thought my world was falling apart, God was quietly building a foundation underneath me that I’m still standing on today.
I was telling my daughter recently that, as hard as some seasons are, they’re worth it. Not because the pain is good, but because of what God produces through it. That season became the training ground for so much of what I’m still walking in today.
Welcome to the wine press.
Nobody likes the wine press. After all, the only way to get the juice out of a grape is to crush it. But the crushing isn’t the goal. The new wine is.
I’ve come to believe something over the years that has become a theme in my own life: The breaking is the making of a man and woman of God. God isn’t interested in crushing grapes; He’s interested in producing wine. The crushing is the process that releases what He placed inside you all along.
Sometimes we pray for the anointing but resist the process that produces it. We ask God to use us, yet shy away from the very seasons He uses to shape us. The wine press isn’t God’s rejection. It’s God’s preparation.
There are seasons when it feels like everything familiar is being pressed from every direction—dreams, comfort, security, pride, self-reliance. We wonder why. Could it be that God is making room for something we’ve never carried before?
Jesus said that every fruitful branch is pruned so it can bear more fruit (John 15:2). James tells us that testing produces perseverance (James 1:2–4), and Paul writes that tribulation produces perseverance, character, and hope (Romans 5:3–5). The breaking is never meaningless when it is placed in the hands of God.
I remember one prayer meeting during that season. We were simply standing together, holding hands and praying. The presence of God became so overwhelming that the woman beside me literally couldn’t remain standing. She just melted under the weight of God’s presence.
Moments like that don’t come because someone learned better techniques. There is something that happens when a surrendered life has been through the wine press.
History is full of men and women who could tell similar stories. Missionaries, revivalists and evangelists discovered that somewhere before the public ministry came the private crushing. We were talking recently about Kathryn Kuhlman. There came a point in her life when she reached a dead end and died to herself in ways few people ever saw. The cost was enormous, but look at what God did through a surrendered life.
Paul understood this when he wrote: “That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings…” — Philippians 3:10
We all want resurrection power. Few people volunteer for the fellowship of His sufferings, but you can’t separate the two. The Cross wasn’t warm and fuzzy. It was painful, yet it became the doorway to life.
Maybe you’re in your own wine press right now, wondering why God seems to be allowing so much pressure. Don’t waste the crushing. Lean into Him. Listen for His voice and take the next step He’s asking you to take. One day you may look back, just as I have, and realize that what felt like the breaking was actually the making of the man or woman God was preparing all along.
I’ve said it for years, and I’ll keep saying it because I’ve lived it: The breaking is the making of a man and woman of God.
The wine press wasn’t the end of your story. It was where the new wine began.
Prayer
Father, thank You that You never waste our pain. Even in the breaking, Your hands are shaping us like the Potter shapes the clay. The wine press isn’t easy, comfortable, or warm and fuzzy—but neither was the Cross.
I pray for every brother and sister who feels the weight of the crushing right now. Give them courage to trust You one step at a time. Let fear lose its grip and Your voice become clearer than the noise around them. Help them see that what feels like breaking may be Your way of preparing them for what You have called them to carry.
Teach us not only to rejoice in the power of Your resurrection, but to know You in the fellowship of Your sufferings. Bring new wine out of the crushing, hope out of heartbreak, and purpose out of every painful season. Help us trust Your hands when we don’t understand Your process, because we know Your heart.
In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.