The Power of a Force Multiplier

In this world, we all have our roles to play. Too often, people measure worth by wealth, titles, or the size of their platform. The truth is far greater: every person has the capacity to be a force multiplier in the world.

Our roles in life are not always measurable by metrics, accolades, or bank accounts. Instead, we are potential exponents to lives worn thin by depletion, disappointment, and despair. But many of us move through life convinced we bring little to the table—forgetting that God has already equipped us with unique gifts designed to enhance one another.

Consider the Parable of the Sower in Matthew 13:1–9. Jesus describes seed that fell on rocky ground, thorny soil, and good soil. Some seed was devoured, some scorched, but some produced a harvest—a hundred, sixty, or thirty times what was sown. A single seed in the right environment became a multiplier. Fruit was not just for the moment but for the future.

Think of it this way:
An apple tree is planted in a field. In season, it produces 30 apples. Each apple contains six seeds. How many trees have been yielded for the future? 180.

But wait—what about harvesting, planting, soil, and sunlight? Those details are important, but the principle stands: the tree, in one season, has created fruitfulness beyond the apples. The tree has multiplied. It has provided fruit for consumption, seeds for more trees, shade for travelers, and provision for its environment.

This truth echoes Paul’s words in Galatians 6:7–9: “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows… Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”Multiplication takes patience. The fruit of your life may not be immediately visible, but if you sow faithfully, a harvest is guaranteed.

This is what it means to be a force multiplier. We are not simply here to exist. We are here to expand life, to encourage growth, to be both fruit and seed in God’s world.

So what could happen if we recognized our God-given potential and lived fully in and out of season? Maybe then, together, we would cultivate a grove so abundant that God Himself would point to it with joy and say, “Look at what My children have produced.”

Think about it.

What’s Your Soul’s Exchange Rate?

Scripture: Mark 8:36–37

36 For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? 37 For what can a man give in return for his soul?

I’ve been thinking about the shift happening in our world. We take the simplest things for granted—relationship, human connection, friendship. I remember a time you could linger on a porch, talk across a fence, or enjoy seeing people walk up and down the street with no reason, no agenda—just presence.

Now too many of us are “thuggin’ it out in these social media streets.” The current iteration of social media feels like the final boss Survivor always dreamed up—always on, always testing, always demanding a performance. We’ve confused 24/7 access with the fullness of human life. No wonder people get pick-pocketed by politicians, influencers, and pseudo-intellectuals selling quick takes and counterfeit wisdom. While some are doing their “undergrad” on Facebook, “grad school” on Instagram, and “post-doc” on YouTube or TikTok, the world is starving for the real genius of God’s most intricate creation—humanity.

Yes, I know the irony of saying this while using these tools. I’m not anti-tech; I’m pro-soul. My concern is simple: will we forget how to touch grass? Will we trade embodied life for endless scroll? Our national climate is not a reboot of The Apprentice. Hateful, power-hungry voices are working hard to make this republic an oligarch’s dream and a blue-collar nightmare. The “isms” aren’t imaginary; they’re standing in broad daylight, testing the mettle of our character.

Into this swirl, Scripture asks two linked questions we often split apart: “What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and lose their soul? Or what will a person give in exchange for their soul?” (Mark 8:36–37). Growing up, I mostly heard the first question. The second didn’t register until adulthood. But they rise and fall together: profit and exchange, gain and cost.

Most people live long enough to see the profits of misdeeds run out. When they do, a decision waits at the door: mortgage your possible redemption, or rebuild from square one with God’s backing. That second question—What will you give?—forces an inventory. What have you been trading away to feel like you’re “winning”? Time? Integrity? Neighborliness? The capacity to listen? The courage to tell the truth? The exchange rate is never equal. If your value system is off, the gap becomes a chasm.

So pause and assess your portfolio:

  • Relational capital: When was the last time you lingered—no agenda, just presence—with someone who loves you?
  • Moral capital: Where have you compromised little by little, scroll by scroll, “like” by “like”?
  • Civic capital: Are you showing up where decisions are made—school boards, council meetings, community forums—or only where trends are made?
  • Spiritual capital: How’s your soul—anchored in God or tossed by the algorithm?

This isn’t about guilt; it’s about reallocation. If you discover you’ve been over-leveraged in distraction, divest. If your compassion has gone illiquid, free it up. Move your life back into competent, proven hands. God still funds redemption. Grace still underwrites a fresh start.

Three simple moves this week:

  1. Touch grass on purpose. Take a tech sabbath for a few hours. Walk your block. Say hello.
  2. Phone > post. Call one friend you’ve only been DM’ing. Ask how they really are. Linger.
  3. Show up somewhere that matters. Volunteer, attend a meeting, mentor a student, check on a neighbor. Put your body where your values are.

When the audit comes—and it always does—may we be found rich in what lasts: love, justice, mercy, and a soul at peace. Is this season showing that you’re winning yet? Or is it time to take back your portfolio and place it in the hands that never fail? Think about it.

Peace in the Spinout

Last week may have been one of the best weeks of my life. I celebrated my birthday not just for a day, but for a whole week. I went to the movies and found unexpected encouragement in Highest 2 Lowest with Denzel Washington. I ate whatever I wanted. I found myself in conversation about the potential next phase of the United Methodist Church. I connected with people professionally, personally, and spiritually. It was a week filled with joy, hope, and reminders of purpose.

And then Saturday at 12pm happened.

A car ran a red light and hit me. In an instant, my week of celebration was interrupted by chaos. My body ached, my rear tire bent out of shape, and my car spun with violent force. By the grace of God, no one else was hurt. But when my car finally stopped, I realized I had been gripping the wheel so tightly that a witness later said my eyes had been closed until I came back to myself.

In that moment, I had a decision to make. I was a Black man in need of care and compassion, while feeling deep anger at a driver who denied the truth of what had happened. I was shaken, frustrated, and just ready to get it over with. But after 48 hours of reflection and prayer, I made my choice: I will walk differently.

The man who hit me bragged that his car was built like a tank. But I walked away—because God has built me like a terminator. Not in the sense of being unbreakable, but in the sense of being unstoppable. The stress of this year has been relentless, yet I remain uncrushed. The challenges have stacked one after another, yet I am still standing. Why? Because my time is not up. My mission is not complete.

When you carry Kingdom purpose, nothing in this world can stop you.

I thought about Jesus on the boat with the disciples:

Mark 4:35–41 (ESV)
35 On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”
36 And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him.
37 And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling.
38 But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”
39 And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
40 He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”
41 And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

We often focus on Jesus’ power over the winds and waves, but maybe He understood something deeper—that storms increase as you stay faithful to your assignment. The storm wasn’t proof of God’s absence, but of His presence. It wasn’t evidence of failure, but confirmation of mission.

The disruptions. The disconnections. The dismissals. The unexpected collisions. These are not signs of defeat. They are reminders that you are pressing into something hell cannot control.

If you had told me at the start of 2025 the challenges I would face, I would have said no. But here I am. Still here. Still standing.

And maybe my story can encourage you today:

  • The enemy will throw everything he can.
  • But storms can’t sink what God has purposed to sail.
  • Take a deep breath. Sit still.
  • Your very presence shakes the plans of evil.
  • Your voice carries liberation for the voiceless.

Like the Terminator, walk through the fire and chaos. Stand tall. Remind the world and remind yourself: you’re not going anywhere.

Closing Prayer

Lord, I thank You for life, for breath, and for the strength to stand when the storms rage. Thank You for holding me in Your hand when everything around me feels out of control. Teach me to rest like Jesus did in the boat, confident that no wave or wind can cancel Your purpose for my life. When I am tempted to give up, remind me that my mission is not complete and my time is not up. Strengthen my heart to walk tall, to speak boldly, and to live faithfully. And may my life be a testimony that no weapon formed against me shall prosper. In Jesus’ name, Amen.