I recently watched a movie called Ruth and Boaz, a modern-day version of the biblical love story between Ruth and Boaz. Boaz, in this retelling, owns a distillery and understands the sacred value of the crushing. He doesn’t dismiss Ruth as damaged goods or see her through the lens of her past. Instead, he sees her — truly sees her — as the treasure she is.
On their first date, something profound happens: Boaz washes Ruth’s feet, an act of humility and honor. Then, he invites her to join him in crushing grapes. The symbolism is breathtaking. Before the wine can flow, the grapes must first be crushed. Before the fragrance of purpose can be released, something must be broken.
Jesus said that in order to receive new wine, we must also receive a new wineskin. Without it, the new wine will burst the old container, and both will be destroyed. So often in relationships, we long for the beauty of the new — new love, new intimacy, new beginnings — yet resist the breaking process that prepares us to hold it.
In love and marriage, there are seasons of romantic bliss where everything feels effortless, and then there are seasons where the weight of the relationship feels like pressure — like crushing. But these moments are not designed to destroy us; they are opportunities for transformation. The crushing refines what’s inside us and makes the love more potent, more enduring, more alive.
In DeVon Franklin’s new movie, there’s a powerful scene where the distillery was intentionally set on fire and Boaz believes everything was destroyed. Until, he tasted the wine. When you endure the crushing, there is a drink offering that is produced, called new wine. The flames didn’t destroy the wine — they deepen its flavor. Likewise, in love, the fires of testing aren’t meant to consume the relationship but to concentrate its essence. True love, like fine wine, must survive both the fire and the crushing to release its most exquisite form.
When God is at the center, even the pressure produces promise. What once felt like breaking becomes becoming. The relationship becomes the vessel — the new wineskin — that holds what God has refined through time, faith, and perseverance.
So if you find yourself in a season of pressure, remember: God is not punishing you. He’s preparing you. The crushing is not the end — it’s the beginning of something new, fragrant, intoxicating and lasting.
Because love that has been crushed, pressed, and preserved through fire is the kind of love that never loses its flavor.