How God Uses Ordinary People for Extraordinary Work
It is a humbling and thrilling thing when the God who hung the galaxies invites us into
His work. I’ve learned that serving the Lord isn’t just about having passion or ideas—it’s
about becoming the kind of person God can shape, refine, and send. Nehemiah is a
powerful example of this kind of servant leadership. He wasn’t a priest, a prophet, or a
miracle-worker. He was simply a believer with a burden. And that was enough for God
to use him to change history. The Book of Nehemiah tells two stories woven together:
the rebuilding of a wall and the rebuilding of a people. It reminds us that God not only
restores what’s broken—but restores who’s broken. He protects those who belong to
Him and calls us to walk faithfully in worship, obedience, and courage.
The word “initiative” is a spark word—it means taking a step toward something instead
of waiting for someone else. Nehemiah didn’t wait for a sign or a committee. When God
tugged at his soul, he answered. Today, we’re living in a moment where people are
spiritually starving but can’t name their hunger. They chase, meaning the way a thirsty
traveler chases a mirage—only to find the sand of emptiness instead of the water of life.
In a world full of noise, emptiness, and confusion, the church cannot afford to be silent
or slow. We need believers who move, who act, who pray. Not people with opinions, but
people with vision. Not people who comment, but people who care.
It’s easy to wonder if one person can really make a difference. The size of the world’s
brokenness makes us feel small, powerless, and defeated before we begin. Our inner
cynic whispers, “It’s too big. You’re just one person.” But Nehemiah is God’s answer to
our doubt. He lived comfortably, working in a king’s palace, but when he heard about
Jerusalem’s ruins, he let it ruin him. He didn’t shrug and say, “That’s a shame.” The
news broke his heart—and the burden became a calling. Calling led to prayer. Prayer
led to action. Action sparked transformation. One man who wept, who prayed, who
obeyed—and an entire nation found hope again. Never underestimate what God can do
with one life that refuses to sit comfortably while God’s work lies in rubble.
Nehemiah’s name means “Yahweh has comforted,” but he became the comforter. He
was a cupbearer—trusted, respected, and valued. Imagine being the king’s last
safeguard, tasting every sip of wine to ensure it wasn’t poisoned. Noble job, yes—but
also dangerous. Yet his earthly position didn’t define Nehemiah, but by his spiritual
posture. He was a man of prayer before he was a man of action. Before he ever lifted a
stone to rebuild a wall, he lifted his voice to heaven. He wept. He fasted. He sought the
heart of God behind closed doors. J. Oswald Sanders once wrote, “Great leaders are
great because they know how to pray.” Nehemiah didn’t just rebuild a wall—he rebuilt
hope.
When Nehemiah arrived in Jerusalem, the situation was bleak. The walls had been
broken down for 140 years. The people were discouraged, directionless, and
vulnerable. A city without walls is a city without dignity. But through God’s help,
Nehemiah—this layman, this cupbearer, this burden-bearer—led a miracle. In just 52
days, those shattered stones stood firm once again. Not because of perfect conditions.
Not because of brilliant strategy. But because a servant leader obeyed the burden God
gave him.
Nehemiah led people who had a long history with God, chosen, loved, and set apart.
And yet, their story was marked by rebellion. Again and again, they turned from God,
hardened their hearts, worshiped idols, and killed the prophets He sent to warn them.
But even in judgment, God didn’t abandon them. Even in exile, He waited for them. And
when only a remnant—just 2% of those carried into exile—returned to rebuild, God
didn’t say, “It’s too late.” He said, “Let’s begin again.”
Walls in Nehemiah’s day were more than stone; they represented identity, safety, order,
and hope. Without them, the city lay exposed to enemies and shame. Rebuilding the
walls was an act of restoration—physically, spiritually, emotionally. The work meant
more than construction. It meant renewal. It meant saying to the world, “We still belong
to God. And He still hasn’t given up on us.”
The story of Nehemiah teaches us that God still uses ordinary people. It teaches us that
every great work of God begins not with plans or committees, but with prayer. It shows
us that opposition isn’t proof we’ve failed—it’s often proof that the work matters. It
reminds us that ruins are not the end of God’s story—they are often the beginning of His
rebuilding.
Nehemiah reminds me—and maybe reminds you—that the most extraordinary callings
come with burdens that bend us to our knees. He shows us that prayer is not
preparation for the work—it is the work. He shows us that the world doesn’t need more
celebrity Christians—it needs obedient ones. So may God raise modern
Nehemiah’s—men and women who look at brokenness and say, “It doesn’t have to stay
this way.” People who see the rubble, feel what God feels, pray until heaven moves,
and rise to rebuild what others have forgotten.
Because with God, ruins are never final chapters. They are invitations to His greatest
work.