When Energy Walks in the Room
Ever sit in a room, laughter rolling like thunder, but feel a chill cut through the warmth? That’s the kind of night I’m talking about. My friend—he’s the kind of man who can light up the darkest corner with just a crooked grin and a well-aimed joke. Quick-witted, blessed with a tongue sharp as a whip but never mean, he has a way of making folks drop their burdens, if only for a moment, and just laugh.
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!But on this night, something felt off. The game was on, the crew was gathered, and joy was flowing as steady as sweet tea in July. Yet, sitting off to the side was one brother—face locked tight, eyes hard, not a flicker of joy. That laughter—what should’ve been medicine—landed on him like an insult. No hate thrown, just a presence that sucked the air out the room every time folks tried to rise.
Let’s break this down, real simple.
See, there’s only two kinds of energy in this world: kinetic and potential. One’s about movement—life in action, purpose in motion. The other is the promise, the waiting, the weight you feel before the leap. These are the engines inside us all. But that ain’t the whole story.
What really moves these energies—what truly drives a man to action—is what’s under the hood: positive and negative force. Physics tells us positive energy is about heat, about creation, about life expanding. Negative energy is the freeze, the pull-back, the destroyer, the thing that turns laughter to silence. And when you get people together, you can feel which one’s got the upper hand.
Let me make it plain: when folks gather and the room fills with laughter, with love, with real joy—man, that’s God energy. That’s what church is, and it don’t need four walls or a preacher. It’s communion, connection, healing in real time. It’s the good in God, and it’s holy ground, no matter if you’re in a sanctuary or just watching the game with friends.
But let just one person come in with a heart full of something else—envy, pain, bitterness—and all that joy can turn heavy. That’s negative energy at work. And brother, it’s real. Some folks carry rain clouds inside them, and when they walk in, it don’t matter how bright the day is—they’ll find a way to dim it. Not because they’re evil, but because they’re hurting. Sometimes joy just reminds them of what they feel they’ve lost.
I’ve seen it in foxholes and front porches. I’ve watched leaders kill momentum because they couldn’t get past their own scars. And I’ve learned—after a lifetime of picking folks up off the ground floor—that you have to choose your energy. You have to protect it. Because joy, when shared, is contagious, but so is misery.
So, what do you do when you’re the one lighting up the room and you see that face, stone-cold, unmoved? You don’t stop shining. You don’t shrink to fit someone else’s storm. You offer grace, you offer a seat at the table, but you keep feeding the fire of laughter, of love, of life. Because one spark of real joy—of God energy—can soften even the hardest soul, given time.
Let’s bring this home:
Whether you’re leading a team, raising a family, or just trying to keep your head up, you’re either giving energy or taking it. Choose to give. Choose the good. Because at the end of the day, leadership is about raising the temperature, not freezing the room. Be the warmth. Be the movement. Be the one who makes even the quietest soul believe joy is still possible.
You ever notice how the realest church you’ll ever experience don’t always happen on a Sunday morning, behind stained glass, or with a choir humming in the background? Sometimes church breaks out right there in a living room, in the middle of laughter, or when two folks are swapping stories that lift each other’s spirits. Because truth is, church isn’t about the building—it’s about the energy, the connection, the way we pour God’s good into each other.
When two or more people gather and bring their best—hope, kindness, encouragement, and honest-to-God joy—that’s God energy in motion. That’s what the good book means when it says, “Where two or three are gathered in My name, I am there.” We think it’s about the pews and the pulpit, but it’s about presence and participation. It’s about lifting folks up, about letting your light be the reason somebody else finds their way out of a dark moment.
But let’s not kid ourselves. Not everyone walks into the room carrying light. Sometimes folks show up heavy—full of regret, envy, or just plain weariness from all life’s thrown at them. And when that kind of energy meets joy, you can feel the shift, like a cloud crossing over the sun. You see it in their eyes, the way they sit apart, the way laughter seems to pass right over them.
It’s tempting to match that low energy, to dial yourself down so you don’t make them uncomfortable. But here’s what years of life and leadership have taught me: don’t shrink to fit someone else’s pain. Don’t hide your joy just because someone else forgot how to feel it. Your energy, when it’s rooted in faith, kindness, and purpose, is medicine for every soul in the room—including your own.
That’s where leadership shows up—not just in the titles or the fancy corner office, but in your willingness to bring light into the spaces that need it most. Leadership is choosing, every day, to be a source of warmth, of hope, of clarity, even when the world around you is cold or confused. It’s about carrying God energy into every room, every meeting, every ordinary moment, and knowing that by doing so, you’re building more than success—you’re building legacy.
If you’re tired of shrinking, if you’re ready to stop letting other folks’ storms dictate your forecast, let’s talk. It’s time to lead with courage, to move with conviction, and to spread the kind of energy that changes rooms—and lives—for the better.
Ready to step into real leadership and build a legacy that lasts?
Let’s talk about it.