The Olive Trees of Puglia

In southern Italy's Puglia region, olive trees stand that were planted before Columbus ever sailed. Some are over a thousand years old. Their trunks are gnarled and twisted, split open by centuries of Mediterranean wind and drought. To a passerby, they look like they should have died long ago. But every autumn, these ancient trees produce some of the finest olive oil in the world — rich, golden, peppery on the tongue. Farmers call them "the grandmothers," and they out-produce younger trees year after year.

When scientists studied why, they discovered something remarkable. The older the olive tree, the deeper and wider its root system spreads. What looks weathered and worn above ground is connected to an enormous hidden network below, drawing water from sources younger trees cannot reach.

The psalmist knew this kind of flourishing. "The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon," he wrote. "They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green." This is the promise for those planted in the house of the Lord — not that life won't leave its marks on us, but that our roots will go so deep into the faithfulness of the Most High that we will keep producing fruit others thought impossible.

The grandmother trees of Puglia don't bear fruit because they avoided hardship. They bear fruit because they stayed planted. And so it is with every soul rooted in the goodness of God.