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.
Faith does not eliminate fear. Faith decides what fear is allowed to control.
Barak is not asking Deborah to replace God. He is asking for confirmation that God is truly present in what he is about to do.
Deborah agrees to go, but she also speaks a word that reframes the entire moment. The victory will not belong to human strength. It will not belong to reputation. It will not belong to confidence.
God will make sure of that.
This is one of the great reversals in Scripture. God does not wait until His people feel ready. He waits until they are willing. Then He moves in ways that remove any illusion that success came from human ability.
Throughout Scripture, this pattern repeats.
God speaks through people others would overlook.
A servant girl directs a powerful commander toward healing.
A donkey interrupts a prophet who has lost clarity.
Ravens feed Elijah in isolation.
Jael, an unexpected figure, becomes part of God’s deliverance.
The message is consistent.
God is not limited by the messenger. He is limited by resistance.
That truth is both comforting and unsettling. Comforting, because it means usefulness is not reserved for the confident or the impressive. Unsettling, because it means hesitation cannot hide behind inadequacy.
Judges does not ask whether God is able to act. That question is settled. The story presses a different issue.
Will anyone move when clarity comes, even while fear remains?
That question echoes beyond ancient Israel.
Many people today are not waiting for God to speak.
They are waiting to feel certain.
They are waiting to feel strong.
They are waiting to feel worthy.
Judges suggests those conditions rarely arrive before obedience.
Obedience often comes first. Understanding follows later.
God’s work does not begin when fear disappears. It begins when fear stops being in charge.
Deborah does not represent perfection. She represents attentiveness. Barak does not represent fearlessness. He represents honesty. Together, they demonstrate something essential.
God uses people who listen clearly enough to move, even when the path ahead remains uncertain.
That is the tension this story refuses to resolve for us.
And it is the tension that brings the question closer still.
Can God use me?
Or more honestly.
Will I listen closely enough to respond when He does?
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The story moves quickly once obedience begins.
Barak gathers the people as God instructed. Ten thousand men assemble, not because they feel prepared, but because a word from God has been heard and trusted.
Judges does not describe a surge of confidence sweeping through the camp. It describes movement.
Movement matters.
There are moments in Scripture where faith looks bold and triumphant. This is not one of them. This is the kind of faith that walks forward with unanswered questions still hanging in the air.
Israel moves toward Mount Tabor fully aware of the iron chariots waiting below. They move knowing they are outmatched. They move because God has spoken.
That distinction is crucial.
Many people assume that when God is at work, the path forward will feel obvious. It rarely does.
Clarity does not always arrive with comfort. Sometimes clarity arrives with tension. God says “go,” but fear has not yet quieted down.
Faith does not require fear to vanish. Faith requires fear to yield.
This is where obedience often stalls.
We wait for circumstances to improve.
We wait for confidence to grow.
We wait for clarity to deepen.
Judges shows us a different sequence.
God speaks.
People move.
God acts.
The order matters.
As Barak and the people position themselves, Sisera responds exactly as expected. He gathers his forces. He deploys his chariots. He trusts what has always worked for him. Power, technology, and experience have never failed him before. That confidence becomes his blind spot.
Judges 4 says simply, “The Lord routed Sisera and all his chariots.” The language is brief, but Judges 5 fills in the picture.
A storm breaks loose. Rain falls where rain is least expected. The dry riverbed of Kishon becomes mud. Iron chariots designed for speed and dominance turn into anchors.
What Sisera trusted most becomes his greatest liability.
This is one of Scripture’s recurring warnings.
The things we rely on apart from God often fail first when pressure comes. Strength, strategy, control, and certainty are not evil in themselves. They become dangerous when they replace trust.
Sisera’s defeat is not accidental. It is instructive.
God does not always remove the forces we fear. Sometimes He reveals how limited they truly are.
This is the point where many people misunderstand providence. They imagine God intervening only through dramatic miracles detached from ordinary life.
Judges presents something more layered. God uses weather. Geography. Timing. Decisions made long before the battle ever begins.
The text mentions details that seem incidental. The location of tents. The movement of families. The choices of individuals who appear to be far from the center of action. None of it feels coordinated by human design. All of it fits within God’s purpose.
Providence does not mean every action is approved. It means no action is beyond God’s reach.
That truth matters because it removes a common excuse for inaction.
Many people hesitate to obey because they fear becoming entangled in complexity they do not understand. They want obedience to be clean, predictable, and safe.
Scripture does not offer that promise.
God’s work is often decisive without being tidy.
As the battle turns, Sisera flees on foot. Power collapses quickly once momentum shifts. The man who commanded armies now runs alone. The story narrows from national conflict to personal encounter.
God’s deliverance moves through places Sisera never anticipated.
This is where the question surfaces again, not in theory, but in lived reality.
Can God use me?
Judges answers without hesitation. God uses people who are willing to move when He speaks, even when uncertainty remains.
Obedience does not wait for full understanding. It steps forward trusting that God is already at work ahead of us.
That principle has never changed.
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As the story narrows, Scripture introduces a character who would never appear on any strategic planning document.
Jael does not command an army. She holds no official authority. She is not part of Israel’s military leadership. In fact, she exists on the margins of the conflict entirely.
That is precisely why her role matters.
Sisera flees to Jael’s tent because he assumes safety. Her household has maintained peaceful relations with his allies.
Nothing about her suggests danger.
Nothing about her position suggests significance.
Sisera misjudges the situation because he evaluates usefulness the way most people do—by visibility, power, and precedent.
God evaluates differently.
The narrative does not romanticize Jael’s actions. It reports them.
Scripture often records events without offering commentary or explanation. What matters for our purposes is not the method, but the message embedded in the moment.
God completes His work through an unexpected vessel.
That pattern appears again and again.
A servant girl tells her master to seek healing from Elisha. She has no status, no platform, no protection. She simply speaks what she knows to be true. Her obedience changes the trajectory of a powerful man’s life.
A donkey interrupts Balaam’s reckless certainty.
Ravens deliver food to Elijah in isolation.
God repeatedly bypasses what humans would label “qualified” and chooses availability instead.
This confronts a quiet assumption many people carry.
We tend to believe that usefulness belongs to those with clarity, confidence, and position.
Scripture repeatedly dismantles that idea. God does not wait for ideal circumstances or ideal people. He moves through those who respond.
That truth is unsettling because it removes our most common excuses.
If God only used the strong, the trained, or the certain, many of us could step back comfortably.
But Scripture tells a different story. God uses the attentive. God uses the obedient. God uses those who do not assume they are indispensable, but who are willing when called upon.
Judges 5 reinforces this lesson by naming tribes who responded and tribes who hesitated.
Reuben thought deeply but remained still.
Dan stayed with his ships.
Asher remained along the shore.
Life continued. Responsibilities were met. Nothing obviously sinful occurred. Clarity passed them by.
The song does not condemn reflection or work. It reveals a sobering truth. Moments of obedience are sometimes brief. When they pass, they do not always return in the same form.
Neutrality feels safe, but it is never still. It drifts.
God’s work advances through response, not contemplation alone. Waiting has its place, but delay can quietly become resistance when clarity has already been given.
Judges does not suggest that everyone is called to the same role. It does insist that everyone is responsible for how they respond when God speaks.
That brings the question back again, stripped of abstraction.
Can God use me?
Scripture answers without qualification.
God can use anyone who is willing to listen and respond.
The more pressing question is whether we are prepared to recognize the moment when obedience is required and step forward without guarantees.
That is where usefulness begins.
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Judges 5 steps back from the battlefield and does something unexpected. It sings.
Deborah and Barak do not analyze the victory. They do not document strategy. They do not memorialize bravery. They interpret what has happened through worship.
That matters.
Song has a way of naming truths that explanation alone cannot carry. It gathers memory, emotion, and meaning into a single act. This song does not celebrate human strength. It does not elevate military genius. It centers everything on the action of God.
“The stars fought from heaven.”
The language is poetic, but the meaning is direct. The universe was not neutral. Creation itself aligned with its Creator.
The battle was never only about chariots, numbers, or terrain. God was already at work in ways Israel could not see.
This challenges a modern assumption many people hold. We prefer to believe that we can remain neutral. That we can observe without participating. That waiting without choosing is a safe position. Scripture does not support that illusion.
In a moral universe, everyone is being shaped by something. Silence is not empty. Hesitation leans in a direction. Judges 5 names those who stepped forward and those who stayed behind, not to humiliate them, but to reveal that decisions matter even when they are delayed.
Reuben thought deeply.
Dan stayed with his ships.
Asher remained along the shore.
Nothing outwardly rebellious occurred. Life went on. Work continued. Yet the moment of obedience passed without them.
This is not condemnation. It is warning.
Opportunities to respond to God often arrive quietly and depart quickly. They rarely announce themselves with certainty. They ask for movement while questions remain unanswered.
That is why Deborah’s role is so significant. She does not manufacture urgency. She recognizes timing. She listens closely enough to know when delay has become disobedience.
God’s work advances through those who respond when clarity comes, not when conditions feel ideal.
Judges closes the story by turning our attention to another waiting figure—Sisera’s mother.
She looks out her window expecting victory. She assumes power will return as it always has. She waits for a story that never arrives.
Her posture stands in contrast to Deborah’s.
One waits on assumptions. The other listens for God.
The difference between them is not intelligence or experience. It is attentiveness.
This is where the question settles with weight.
Can God use me?
Scripture has already answered. God can use anyone.
The more honest question is whether we are listening closely enough to recognize His voice when it comes through ordinary means.
God does not always speak through thunder. Sometimes He speaks through people. Sometimes He speaks through moments. Sometimes He speaks through quiet clarity that interrupts routine.
Usefulness is not about position. It is not about confidence. It is not about certainty.
It is about willingness.
Judges does not invite us to admire ancient heroes. It invites us to examine our own responsiveness.
When God speaks, when clarity comes, when the moment presents itself, will we move?
That is the question the story leaves in our hands.
And it is the question that still determines whether God’s work moves forward today.
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By the time the story ends, Judges has quietly dismantled many of the assumptions people carry about usefulness.
The victory does not belong to the strongest tribe, the best-equipped army, or the most confident leader. It belongs to God, working through people who were willing to listen and respond when clarity came.
That is what makes this question so personal.
Can God use me?
For many, the instinctive answer is still cautious. We inventory our weaknesses. We remember past failures. We compare ourselves to others who seem more gifted, more confident, or more certain. We wait for a moment when we finally feel ready.
Judges offers no such moment.
Deborah did not wait for ideal conditions. Barak did not wait for fear to disappear. Jael did not wait for recognition or permission. Each responded within their own sphere when the moment arrived.
None of them controlled the outcome. All of them participated in obedience.
That distinction matters because it reframes responsibility.
God never asks His people to guarantee success. He asks them to respond faithfully. The outcome belongs to Him. The response belongs to us.
This is where many believers quietly stall. They confuse obedience with outcome. They assume that if God truly intends to use them, the path will feel obvious, affirmed, and safe.
Scripture repeatedly tells a different story. Obedience often begins with clarity, not comfort.
Clarity does not remove risk. It gives direction.
The danger in uncertain times is not usually outright rebellion. It is drift. It is delay. It is waiting for conditions that never arrive.
Judges reminds us that neutrality is never neutral. It shapes us even when we are unaware of it.
God’s work moves forward through those who are attentive enough to recognize when the moment calls for movement.
That means usefulness is not reserved for a spiritual elite. It belongs to those who listen closely and act faithfully within the space God has given them.
The servant girl speaks. The prophet listens. The leader moves. The ordinary becomes instrumental.
This is not a call to impulsiveness. It is a call to attentiveness.
God does not demand perfection. He does not demand fearlessness. He does not demand certainty. He invites responsiveness.
When clarity comes, even quietly, the question becomes unavoidable.
Will I move?
That question sits beneath every act of obedience. It is where faith becomes embodied rather than admired. It is where belief becomes action.
Judges leaves us here intentionally, not with resolution, but with responsibility.
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That responsibility does not rest on our ability to predict outcomes. It rests on our willingness to trust God with the results.
Judges never suggests that the people involved understood the full scope of what God was doing. They understood enough to respond.
That is often how God works.
Most people want a map before they take a step. God usually gives a direction and asks for movement. Understanding tends to arrive later, sometimes much later. Obedience, however, is always timely.
This is why the question “Can God use me?” can quietly transform into something more honest.
Am I willing to be used?
Being used by God is not about surrendering dignity or agency. It is about aligning our choices with God’s purposes even when those purposes unfold beyond our control.
It means trusting that God sees what we cannot see and is already at work ahead of us.
Judges shows us that God does not wait for the perfect messenger. He waits for a listening one.
Some people disqualify themselves before God ever does. They assume their past mistakes are final. They assume their limitations are decisive. They assume their quiet faith is insufficient. Scripture consistently challenges those assumptions.
God used Deborah not because she sought prominence, but because she listened. God used Barak not because he was fearless, but because he moved. God used Jael not because she fit expectations, but because she acted when the moment arrived.
None of them were indispensable. All of them were available.
That truth should both humble and encourage us. It humbles us because it reminds us that God’s work does not depend on our brilliance. It encourages us because it means our obedience matters more than our résumé.
The story of Judges refuses to let us remain spectators. It presses us toward self-examination.
Where are we hesitating?
Where have we heard clarity but delayed response?
Where have we mistaken waiting for wisdom when it has quietly become avoidance?
God does not force obedience. He invites it.
And invitations have moments.
They can be accepted or ignored. They can be delayed until they quietly pass.
Judges shows us that those moments shape the direction of lives, communities, and histories more than we often realize.
This is why the question remains so powerful.
Can God use me?
Scripture answers yes, without hesitation.
The only unresolved variable is our response.
God’s work continues through ordinary people who listen carefully and act faithfully. That has always been the pattern. It has never changed.
So the question that finally rests with us is not about worth or qualification. It is about attentiveness.
When God speaks, when clarity comes, when the moment calls for movement, will we respond?
That is where usefulness begins.
And that is where faith quietly becomes obedience.
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Appeal
Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped asking whether God could use us and started waiting until we felt ready.
Judges reminds us that readiness is not a feeling—it is a response.
Today, God is not asking for certainty, strength, or credentials. He is asking for attentiveness.
If God were to speak clearly into your life right now, would you be willing to move—even if fear remains?
The invitation is simple.
Listen.
Trust.
Respond.
>> Prayer
Lord, quiet the noise that competes for our attention.
Give us ears to hear Your voice clearly and hearts willing to respond faithfully.
Teach us not to wait for perfect conditions, but to trust You in uncertain moments.
Use us—not because we are strong or confident, but because we are willing.
We place the outcome in Your hands and offer ourselves in obedience.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
