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Martin Jarvis is a U.S. veteran, MBA, investor, and modern-day philosopher whose mission is to uplift minds and transform lives--bridging generations, blending financial insight, spiritual clarity, and social consciousness to help others rise beyond limitation and live with power, purpose, and dignity.

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We live in a time where the world is heavy with activity—some good, much of it troubling. At times, we find ourselves caught up in global conflicts, pulled into chaos by our allies or the threat of danger to our nation.


But when you step back and look at the bigger picture, it all seems to come down to one timeless truth: what goes around comes around.


Call it karma. Call it reaping what we sow. Whatever the term, there is a mysterious but undeniable law at play in this world. When we do good, good somehow returns. When we sow harm—whether as individuals or nations—that harm circles back.


We call certain things “scientific laws” because we’ve observed them consistently over time: gravity, motion, energy, thermodynamics. But the truth is, we don’t really know why they work—we just know they do.


Maybe this ancient principle of sowing and reaping belongs in that same category. Maybe it’s not superstition. Maybe it’s just science we haven’t figured out yet.


For generations, America has had a dual nature. We’ve done some terrible things—genocide of Native Americans, the enslavement of Africans, cruel treatment of immigrants—but we’ve also been one of the most charitable nations on Earth.


We’ve fed the hungry, protected the weak, and offered aid to those devastated by war or disaster. That generosity may be the very thing that’s kept us afloat.


But now we stand at a different crossroads. The scales are tipping. We are no longer simply observing injustice—we are justifying it. Our politics have become a sport where truth doesn’t matter, only winning.


Hostility is normalized, even celebrated. We’ve embraced what we know is wrong, simply because it’s convenient, or it serves our side.


That kind of moral erosion doesn’t stay in the realm of politics. It seeps into the soul of a nation. It becomes who we are.


Take the case of Israel and Palestine. For over 70 years, the Palestinians have endured displacement, abuse, and dehumanization. Yet many still blindly side with Israel, not because it’s right, but because it’s familiar, powerful, and politically expedient. Israel recently struck a sovereign nation—Iran—and when Iran responded, we didn’t flinch at the provocation.


We rushed to defend the aggressor. Now, we are entangled. Spiritually, morally, and practically. And the question becomes: what will we reap from this?


It’s time we stop and take a hard look—not just at what we’re doing, but who we’ve become. We must align ourselves with what is good, just, and true—not out of fear, but out of wisdom. Because the laws of cause and effect do not care about flags, power, or politics. They only care about the seeds that were sown.


We’ve never truly been attacked on a massive scale—not like other nations. But if we keep aligning ourselves with war, with lies, with bullies and injustice, then the protections we’ve long taken for granted may slip away.


Let’s not trade our future for temporary alliances. Let’s not sell our soul for a false sense of security. It’s not too late—but it is getting late.


 
Martin Jarvis
Jun 19, 2025
4 min read

I’ve spent much of my life studying The Art of War — not just reading it, but living it. I was raised in a family that played chess, sparred in debates, and honored the rhythm of discipline.


We were a military family — my father served in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. My siblings and I served, too — in wartime and peace, across continents and causes. I began martial arts at 14, competed well into my 30s, and even fought once in Japan. My mind, my movement, and my decisions were shaped by what I learned.


To this day, I’ve probably read or listened to The Art of War over a hundred times. It’s become part of how I think — not because I recite a line here and there, but because its truth has soaked into my bones. I don’t have to quote it; I live it. And looking back, I can see how many of my life decisions were informed by it — without even realizing.


That’s why I notice when people pull a single phrase from something deep — like The Art of War or the Bible — and turn it into a weapon or a slogan. A sentence here, a concept there. It’s one thing to quote wisdom. It’s another thing to let it shape you.


I’ve studied the Bible with the same seriousness — not casually, not selectively. I’ve read various interpretations, spent time with people of different traditions, and wrestled with contradictions. I’ve had conversations with folks who were quick to condemn others based on one verse — while ignoring the ones that might ask more of them.


One man in particular spoke so harshly about others not “living right,” all while living on disability and not working. Eventually, I asked, “Doesn’t scripture say, ‘If a man doesn’t work, he shouldn’t eat?’” He got angry. Said I lacked love.


But I wasn’t judging him. I was inviting him to be honest with himself. Because if we’re going to hold others accountable to scripture, shouldn’t we start by holding ourselves?


That’s why grace is so vital. We’re all judged by the same measure we use on others — not just spiritually, but socially.


What we give, we receive. What we sow, we reap. Karma, chickens coming home, what goes around — whatever you call it, the principle remains.


It happens with religion, too. People grab onto selective verses or traditions — sometimes out of habit, sometimes out of fear — and use them to justify themselves while rejecting others. And that’s dangerous. It creates division where love was meant to live.

Some even use religious identity as a kind of spiritual superiority — claiming sacred promises while ignoring sacred responsibility.


I’ve heard all kinds of things — including debates over who the “real” Jews are, or who the “chosen” people are. And I don’t get into all of that. Because what’s the point of being chosen if it just makes you cruel to others?


We’re all human. And we all need grace.


The real problem comes when people confuse religion with God. When we forget that God was here before books, before temples, before rituals. We — humans — created religion to try to understand the divine. And somewhere along the way, we started worshiping the tools instead of the truth they were pointing to.


Even scripture warns us not to worship what our own hands have made. But that’s exactly what we’ve done. We’ve elevated books and buildings and institutions higher than the love they were supposed to teach us.


That’s where so much hurt has come from. The wars. The slavery. The prejudice. The hate. The control. All of it often in God’s name — but rooted not in divine love, but in human misunderstanding.


As we grow spiritually, we have to rise above those misunderstandings. We have to stop worshiping what we created — and start living what we were created for.

And that’s love.


To me, it’s like this: Imagine a father with children all over the world. Some of them have never met. They speak different languages. They call him by different names — Father, Abba, Papa, Daddy. But he loves them all. He doesn’t want them fighting about who knows him best. He wants them to love each other.


Isn’t that what Jesus taught when he said the greatest commandment is to love God — and love your neighbor as yourself? Love your Father. Love your siblings. That’s the essence of it all.


We created holy books to try to explain our place in the universe and our relationship with the Creator. But when we let those books divide us — when we use them to hurt each other — we’ve missed the point. We’ve put more faith in our understanding than in the love that created us all.


So here’s what I believe: The Creator was before all things. And everything that brings us closer to love, to peace, to justice — that’s where God is. And if we say we love God but can’t love each other… then we’ve missed the whole message.


Let’s get back to the beginning. To love.


Because in the end, we were never meant to worship the tools.We were meant to love like the one who made us.

 
Martin Jarvis
Jun 17, 2025
2 min read

It always weighs heavy on my heart to see unnecessary loss of life. What’s happening in Israel right now is heartbreaking. People are suffering, and much of that suffering feels avoidable. But beyond the headlines and politics, there’s a deeper spiritual law at play — one that crosses every culture, every religion, and every time in history: we reap what we sow.


Call it karma. Call it divine justice. Call it cause and effect. Whatever language we use, we all know this truth — that what we put out into the world, eventually comes back to us.


Sometimes immediately, and sometimes after many years. But it always returns.

And we’re seeing this truth unfold in many corners of the world. Not just in Israel and Gaza, but in the long-standing tensions between Russia and Ukraine.


Even here in the United States — in how this nation has treated Black people, Mexicans, and so many of its own citizens. Seeds of injustice don’t just vanish. They grow, and eventually, they yield a harvest.


I remember watching President Trump’s military parade a while back, held on the Army’s birthday. To me, it felt like a hijacking of something sacred — a moment meant to honor service, turned into something self-serving. I hoped it would rain that day, just to cleanse the energy of it all.


But instead, the sun was shining. Still, the turnout was small, and the soldiers looked uninspired. That empty space, that lack of enthusiasm, felt louder than thunder. It felt like a quiet statement from the people — more telling than any storm could have been.


Scripture reminds us not to grow weary in doing good, even when it feels like those who do wrong seem to thrive. Because justice may be slow, but it is never absent. In the Middle East, in America, and in our own personal lives, what has been planted will eventually grow. And while we don’t always reap in the same field where we sowed — while the connection isn’t always obvious — the principle still stands.


Israel thought its defenses would protect it from the consequences of its actions. But no defense system can shield a people from spiritual accountability. For decades, Palestinian families have suffered — while just across the way, Israeli families have lived ordinary, peaceful lives, enjoying beaches, raising children, and moving on with daily routines. But when a nation causes another people to suffer for generations, there is always a reckoning.


Still, this isn’t about blame. It’s about repentance. About reflection. Because while we can’t undo the past, we can absolutely affect the future. Every nation, every leader, every one of us — we all have a choice to look inward, to acknowledge harm, and to commit to something better.


It’s not too late to change. It’s never too late to turn around. But we must first be willing to connect the suffering we see… to the seeds that were once sown.

Peace.


 

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