Across the Bible, there are some seriously bad lines—bad as in big, authoritative, and downright gangster. Joshua declaring, “As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15), standing firm despite the Israelites’ unfaithfulness to God. Elijah calling down fire while mocking Baal for being “too busy” relieving himself (1 Kings 18:27). Jehu declaring that there can be no peace while a harlot named Jezebel still sits in Israel (2 Kings 9:22). And Peter proclaiming for Simon the Sorcerer to perish because he wickedly thought God’s anointing could be bought with money (Acts 8:20).

One of my favourites is in Exodus 2—though it carries a quieter kind of weight than the baller ones before. Verse 14 has always captured me because it’s soaked in condescension and irony, yet carefully crafted by the hands and heart of the Almighty. One day, after killing an Egyptian who was oppressing his people, Moses steps in to break up a fight between two Hebrews. Their response? “Who made you ruler and judge over us?” (Exodus 2:14).

What these Israelites said was both a rejection and an unwitting confirmation of Moses’ call—though none of them realised the latter. Because, to answer their question plainly: God did. The Lord had made Moses ruler and judge over his brothers. Although it seems like a simple moment, it’s loaded with meaning—about calling, confirmation, and divine timing.

Surely, their question came from a place of disbelief and condescension—likely shaped by the disillusionment of slavery and the pain of being prisoners in Egypt. To them, it must have felt outrageous that someone raised in Pharaoh’s palace—the very system oppressing them—would dare speak into their struggle, let alone presume to be on their side.

Yet while their words were meant as an insult, Heaven had already written a different answer over Moses’ life. He was, in fact, their ruler and judge—just not in the way they expected, and not on their timeline. Sometimes, the very pushback you receive when stepping into purpose is actually prophetic. Without meaning to, people often end up exposing what God has already placed on your life. Their resistance becomes confirmation.

We see this not only in Moses’ story, but throughout Scripture. Joseph’s brothers mocked his dreams, not realising those very dreams foretold their future—the dreamer would rule over them and a nation. David, though anointed by Samuel, was questioned by his brothers just before defeating Goliath. Even Jesus was rejected by His own hometown, who couldn’t fathom how someone so familiar could carry divinity. And yet, none of that stopped the mission.

Rejection from people—even those closest to you—doesn’t cancel your calling. More often than not, it confirms it. God doesn’t need a vote to validate what He’s already appointed.

What was going on in Moses’ head and heart in that moment? I’ve wrestled deeply with this over the last few months. I’m still not sure if he fully understood that God was going to make him into all that He eventually did—but I believe Moses knew, at least in part, that he was called. That there was purpose on his life. That he was somehow meant to see his people freed from their bondage.

So when he tried to help—even if it was premature, and messy, and not God’s way—they rejected him. And I can only imagine how much that must have hurt. Not just because of what they said, but because of who said it. He wasn’t just risking his comfort or his position as a prince; he was stepping out of the palace to stand with his people, and they wanted nothing to do with him.

I’ve been there. I’m sure you have too. It’s one of the most painful experiences—to feel called to help a people who don’t seem to want your help. To step into purpose only to be met with suspicion or dismissal. But it’s a pain that’s not foreign to Scripture.

Time and again, we see this dynamic play out. Rejection often comes from the very people you’re sent to serve. It’s one of the difficult, often disorienting realities of leadership and calling: the ones you bleed for may question your motives, doubt your authority, and resist your help.

But the rejection doesn’t cancel the call. Nor does the misunderstanding stop the mission. Like Jesus—“He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him”—that kind of pain is actually part of the path. And the purpose still stands.

Moses was made in the hidden place of Midian. He wasn’t publicly anointed. There was no ceremony, no celebration. No elders laid hands on him, no peers surrounded him in affirmation. No announcement, no spotlight, no trumpets. But there was something far more important—a burden. Because there was a call upon him.

Sometimes, people won’t recognise what God has already commissioned. And that doesn’t mean you’re not called. It simply means your affirmation comes from heaven, not headlines. Like Moses, we don’t need man’s validation to begin carrying the weight of divine purpose. What can man possibly say or do in comparison to the One who formed every man?

There will come a day when people may echo what God already declared. But until then, fix your eyes on the only voice that truly matters. The hidden place may feel obscure. It may feel lonely. But it’s holy ground. That’s where God shapes His leaders—not under lights, but under pressure. Not in crowds, but in caves. So don’t despise the quiet. Don’t question the call just because it hasn’t been publicly confirmed. If God spoke it, that’s enough.

One of the things I love most about this story is the irony. Moses’ actions revealed what was already inside him. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. If life was just about comfort, success, or status—Moses already had all of that. He was a prince of Egypt, raised with prominence, privilege, and power within the palace. Yet the divine purpose in him was drawn to step in, to defend, to intervene, to bring justice. In doing so, Moses exposed the early stirrings of his calling and Israel’s coming season. It was the reign of a deliverer in embryonic form. His actions weren’t random—they were seeds of purpose already beginning to sprout.

We often catch glimpses of someone’s destiny long before it’s affirmed or refined. That was true for Moses. Though passionate, he was still rough around the edges—unrefined by the fire of God. He reacted in anger, not yet governed by grace. But even in Moses’ immaturity, he was already moving in the direction of his call. His instinct wasn’t Egyptian or from Pharaoh’s place—it was deliverance, and came from God’s hand.

Who would’ve thought that their question—“Who made you ruler and judge?”—would become one of the greatest ironies in Scripture? Because one day, Moses did return. And he led the Israelites out. He was their ruler. He was their judge. What those two Hebrew men once questioned, God Himself confirmed.

So if someone’s questioning your authority, your direction, your right to step into purpose—don’t be discouraged. You might just be walking in what God has already affirmed about you.