Can God Use Me?

There is a question that lives quietly beneath a great deal of spiritual activity. It rarely gets announced. It doesn’t usually show up in public prayer. It hides behind busyness, behind service, behind long familiarity with faith.

Can God use me?

Not “Does God exist?”

Not “Is the Bible true?”

But something far more personal and far more unsettling.

Me.

Most people don’t ask that question because they doubt God. They ask it because they doubt themselves. They wonder if they are too late, too ordinary, too inconsistent, too distracted, or too unsure to matter in the work of God.

That question becomes sharper in uncertain times. When the world feels loud, unstable, and fragmented, usefulness feels harder to define. Clarity feels harder to hear.

The book of Judges opens in a season like that.

Judges 4 begins with a sentence that sounds repetitive on the surface but revealing underneath. “The children of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord.”

It is easy to hear that and imagine outright rebellion, but the story suggests something more subtle. Israel did not abandon faith. They became disoriented.

Judges 5 later explains the problem with surprising honesty. “They chose new gods.”

That doesn’t mean they stopped believing in the old one. It means God became one voice among many.

That distinction matters.

When too many voices compete for attention, obedience slows. Not because people stop caring, but because they stop knowing which voice deserves first response.

Fear speaks.

Power speaks.

Technology speaks.

Survival speaks.

God still speaks, but His voice has to compete.

That environment feels uncomfortably familiar.

We live in an age where attention is constantly claimed and rarely rested. Notifications interrupt thought. Opinions multiply without pause. Fear travels faster than truth. Even good things compete for the space where listening used to live.

People today are not less spiritual than previous generations. They are more distracted.

Distraction doesn’t always look like rebellion. Often it looks like confusion. Confusion delays obedience just as effectively as defiance ever could.

Israel found themselves oppressed by a power they could not match. Nine hundred iron chariots represented the most advanced military technology of the day.

Judges 5 tells us shields and spears were scarce among the Israelites. They were under-equipped, outmatched, and fully aware of it.

Fear had evidence.

Against that backdrop, Scripture introduces Deborah.

There is no fanfare. No apology. No explanation. “Now Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lappidoth, was judging Israel at that time.”

The text does not defend God’s choice. It does not anticipate objections. It does not slow down to explain why God spoke through her.

God spoke. Someone listened.

Deborah did not seize authority. She did not demand attention. She did not campaign for influence. She recognized the voice of God and responded faithfully.

People came to her because clarity had become rare.

That may be one of the most important details in the story. In times of uncertainty, people are not looking for spectacle. They are looking for someone who hears clearly and speaks honestly.

Deborah’s presence answers a question before it is ever asked.

God does not wait for perfect conditions.

God does not wait for flawless people.

God waits for willingness.

And that brings the question closer to home.

Can God use me?

Judges suggests the better question might be simpler and more searching.

Am I willing to listen clearly enough to respond when God speaks, even when uncertainty remains?

That question sits at the center of this story.

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If willingness is the doorway God waits at, then hesitation is the threshold where most people linger. Not because they refuse to obey, but because obedience feels costly when outcomes are unclear. Judges does not portray Israel as indifferent. It portrays them as overwhelmed.

This is what makes Deborah’s role so important. She does not manufacture urgency. She does not shame the nation into action. She simply reminds Barak of what God has already said. “Has not the Lord God of Israel commanded…?”

That question cuts through confusion without adding noise.

Notice what Deborah does not do. She does not promise ease. She does not downplay risk. She does not exaggerate Israel’s strength. She does not claim personal authority. She points away from herself and back to God’s word.That is what clarity sounds like.

Barak’s response has often been misunderstood. When he says, “If you will go with me, then I will go,” it is tempting to interpret weakness.

Scripture presents something more honest. Barak understands the stakes. He knows what iron chariots can do. He knows how fragile their position is. He also knows that going forward without assurance of God’s presence would be reckless.

His hesitation is not rooted in disbelief. It is rooted in realism.

There is a difference.