So I am a wine lover, and honestly a bit of a wine snob. Over the past decade I have made several spectacular trips to Napa Valley, and even to Italy, where I’ve tasted fabulous wine and learned about the process of growing the grapes and making the wine.
I have discovered that when the sun is hot and the grapes are left dry and struggling a bit, the fruit is sweetened and the wine those grapes yield is more sophisticated. Cooler climates allow slower ripening, producing wines with more complexity. However, to bring that sweetness and complexity into the wine, the grapes must be crushed.
In winemaking “The Crush” is the process of gently squeezing the grapes and breaking the skins to start to liberate the contents.
Liberate the contents.
I like the way that sounds. I want the contents of my heart and soul liberated. But I am confronted by my own perception that the winemaker who holds the contents of my heart and soul will not be gentle.
A few days ago, as I drove through the cornfields on the way home from dropping my little girls at school I felt the weight of my son’s absence pressing down on my heart; I miss him. I could feel myself resist the pressing with words in my head like, “it is so good for him to be away at school” and “this is everything you had hoped for him”, as if I could stop the weight by telling myself something positive. I am so afraid of feeling the weight, the pressing, ”the crush”.
Last spring I made the decision to leave a job that I loved. The job was in ministry, and in leaving there was the reality that something significant was ending. I was in a small group with several friends who were also involved in the ministry and we were talking about endings and the ending of my time on staff. I could feel the weight pressing down, squeezing my heart. I lost my words; I didn’t know what to say and again I had that feeling of wanting to stop the crush.
For me the word “crushed” evokes images that are not pleasant. I don’t imagine crushing as something gentle; it comes connected with things like:
Hopes crushed
Dreams crushed
Friendships crushed
Heart crushed
I don’t find myself dreaming or planning around the word crush. I have resisted it.
And yet, there is the crushing of wine that I cannot escape. Pinot Noir is made using grapes that have been barely crushed; the content of the grape does not come into much contact with the skins. Due to the lack of intensity in the crushing process, a Pinot Noir requires more grapes than other types of wine. Cabernet Sauvignon comes from a deeper crushing where more of the skin and tannins are included in the final product; the grape is small with thick skin so the winemaker must leave the meat of the grape in contact with the skin for longer after the crushing in order to bring about the desired flavor.
Different grapes, different types of skin, various soils, changing climates all contribute to the process of making the wine. And, so it is with my story.
The places of crushing in my story, where I’ve felt that weight bearing down on my heart, seemingly squeezing the life out of me, continue to unfold. Some are recent and relatively simple, like my son’s absence as he’s away at college. Others are heavier and more complex, like why we had to leave our home in Texas and the friendships there or the feelings of betrayal from lost relationships, or the places in my story of sexual abuse.
All these scenes yield something, and I get to choose what will happen after the crush, how I will respond.
Luscious Cabernet, Spicey Malbec, Buttery Chardonnay or gentle Pinot Noir, each one to be savored and sipped slowly in the company of friends who can appreciate the nuance and complexity.
 
Tracy Johnson is a lover of stories and a reluctant dreamer, living by faith that “Hope deferred makes the heart sick but when dreams come true there is a life and joy” (Pro. 13:12). Married for 26 years, she is mother to five kids. After nearly a half century of life, she’s feeling like she may know who she is. Founder of Seized by Hope Ministries, she writes here.
 
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This is as lovely as the lady who wrote it. Your words leave me in a quiet place…feeling the richness of hope and tenderness through the crush of life. Thank you!
Richness, hope and tenderness…..yes! Thanks for being with me my friend.
Brutiful. This is not a typo as my spell check suggests. Brutal and beauty…. both and.
Brutiful is such a good word Michelle!
Tracy: Your writing has touched some of the heavier side of my struggles today (brutal) AND also the many blessings in my life (Beautiful). Miss you very much!
Loved seeing you here Vanessa! I miss you too. Glad my words connected us today.
A Malbec seasoned in oak casks from Luján de Cuyo, Mendoza would go with your next steaks hot off the grill.
That sounds lovely Paul!
Using a different metaphor, a Jewish proverb says that God’s mill grinds very slowly, but makes very fine flour.
Your writing leaves me pondering. Isn’t it ironic that something that brings us peace and enjoyment comes at such a brutal cost. I think I will enjoy wine in a much different way. You are a gifted writer Tracy. Thanks for sharing your insight.
It is ironic to be sure. I love to imagine you enjoying wine differently!
Well prepared and aged beautifully…
And, you are someone who knows the details of the preparing and the aging. Grateful for your words.
I agree with all of the comments. Your writing led me into shallow breathing. I felt your ache, your choosing and re-choosing to be in “the crush” and go to deep places. Thank you for your courage and reminding us of how “brutiful” our lives are. Blessings to you as you continue in your new journey and allow us to come with you sometimes.
It is good for my heart to have you alongside during this season Becky. Grateful for your presence.
Luscious Cabernet, Spicey Malbec, Buttery Chardonnay or gentle Pinot Noir, each one to be savored and sipped slowly in the company of friends who can appreciate the nuance and complexity.
Your last line reminded me of the magnet I’ve had on my fridge the last couple of years: “This wine tastes best when served with GOOD friends.” The picture you paint of the crush that is necessary to produce that wine, and the parallel to the crush we experience in our hearts and closest relationships is one I will not forget. I am reminded of how often you have reminded me that I would survive a particularly painful crush; of sweet moments spent savoring together the goodness that crush produced.
As you choose to allow the crush, I pray that you will experience gentleness and kindness from the winemaker.
Wow. I loved how you wove all of this together. It is beautiful to see God’s unique gifting on you as you put into words what you feel and experience. Your words fill in gaps that my hear feels but my mind resists.
Thank you for being so transparent I feel the emotion reading this and “the Crush” has a way of impacting us all differently. I love way you wrote in metaphors, I hear and feel your words.