God knows what He’s doing.
One of the Elders in my brilliant local church is left-handed. When it comes to taking notes he’s not as entertaining to watch as some of my other left-handed friends who write at a slope, one foot slightly off the floor, squinting slightly, hand tilted over as if trying to write in secret. The myth is that they all have super powers when it comes to music, the arts or science.
You don’t have to venture far into the Scriptures to see that God has a habit of using what can easily be overlooked. That’s the story of Ehud. Tucked away in the book of Judges like a whisper in a gale-force wind. No grand lineage. No burning bush. Just a left-handed man from the tribe of Benjamin – ironically, a tribe whose name means “son of the right hand.” (Judges 3:15–23)
But his mother would’ve noticed. Long before swords or spies, she watched him reach with that left hand, fumble with tools made for others, learn to navigate a world not designed for him. It’s in these details that God writes his intention. The Bible doesn’t waste ink. When it says Ehud was left-handed, it’s not to make conversation. It’s divine commentary. Marked out from birth, yes – but not for shame. For service.
Now Israel, once again, had done what was evil in the sight of the Lord. The cycle was familiar – sin, oppression, repentance, deliverance. It feels politically incorrect to say this but they were under Eglon, king of Moab, a man described as very fat, which is less about his size and more about indulgence, excess, and the ‘stuff’ that comes with it. Israel cried out, and God answered – not with voice of thunder or fire, but with Ehud.
This is no children’s story. Ehud’s courage isn’t the stuff of campfire songs. He straps a short sword – double-edged – under his clothes, on his right thigh, where no one would expect a weapon. Guards would check the left. Everyone was right-handed, after all. Everyone but Ehud. Now that’s worth dwelling on. God knows what He is doing! There’s no advisory as you read the scripture. Can you remember the first time you read it? It’s in the same league as Mark’s writing in the New Testament; suddenly, immediately…
Ehud enters Eglon’s presence alone. Says he has a secret message. The king, puffed up and confident in his own security, sends everyone else out. No-one is in the room except HRH Eglon, Ehud and of course, unseen, God. And in the silence, Ehud steps forward – not with fanfare, but with faith – and strikes. You might want to skip the next sentence. The sword goes in, the fat closes over the hilt, and Ehud leaves through the porch, locking the doors behind him.
Now, you may read that cough, splutter and wonder, what kind of deliverance is this? It feels gritty, even violent. But this is the world into which God steps. He doesn’t deliver Israel by avoiding the dark. He delivers them by sending light straight into it. God chooses the overlooked, the unlikely, and in this case, the left-handed to bring justice. This is not a lesson in tactics – it’s a portrait of trust. Ehud didn’t volunteer for glory. He moved at the prompting of heaven.
This kind of courage doesn’t begin in a moment – it’s forged long before. Obscurity is often the training ground for obedience. Ehud’s story tells us that the hand you think is weak may be the very one God intends to use. What you hide, He highlights. What others see as deficiency, He declares as design.
Ehud points forward. Not just to courage in the face of fear, but to a God who does not abandon His people. Who hears when they cry. Who raises up deliverers like Ehud not from the ranks of the mighty, but from the margins. If you think God cannot use you because you don’t fit the mould – look at Ehud again. The hand that reaches differently may just be the one that sets a nation free.