Is Confusion From God? Understanding Setbacks, Struggles, and Divine Delays

Let’s start here: God is not the author of confusion. That’s not just a nice saying—it’s scripture.

"For God is not the author of confusion but of peace, as in all churches of the saints." — 1 Corinthians 14:33

So why does life sometimes feel so confusing? Why do we face seasons where nothing seems to line up, where doors slam shut, where we keep running into delays, disappointments, and detours? If confusion doesn’t come from God, then where does it come from—and more importantly, what are we supposed to do with it?

For a long time, I thought setbacks meant I had failed God somehow. That if I was struggling, it must mean my faith wasn’t strong enough. Maybe I prayed wrong, maybe I moved too fast, maybe I wasn’t “spiritual” enough. But the more I looked at scripture, the more I realized—that’s not how God works.

Confusion is not His handwriting. But He will allow the storm, the delay, the obstacle, if it means drawing us closer to Him and shaping us for what’s ahead.

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Struggle Is Not Evidence of Weak Faith

The enemy would love nothing more than to convince you that hardship equals failure. That if you were really a woman of faith, you wouldn’t be tired, broke, sick, betrayed, or stuck. But open your Bible, and you’ll see a different story.

Job was righteous. Scripture says he was blameless before God. Yet in one season, he lost everything—his family, his wealth, even his health. Was it because he lacked faith? No. It was because his faith was being tested and proven.

Joseph carried a dream straight from heaven—visions of leadership and influence—but before he ever touched the throne, he tasted betrayal, slavery, false accusations, and prison bars. Did that mean he missed God? No. It meant God was refining him for something bigger than he could imagine.

David was anointed king while he was still a teenager. God’s oil was already on him. Yet years passed before he ever wore the crown. In between, he faced spears from Saul, seasons of hiding in caves, and constant warfare. Was he out of God’s will? No. He was in the middle of preparation.

If you’re walking through setbacks, it doesn’t mean you’re faithless—it means you’re dangerous. Dangerous to darkness. The very fact that the enemy is pressing in so hard is proof that what you’re carrying is worth fighting for.

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Sometimes “Confusion” Is Really God’s Mercy

Not every closed door is the enemy. Not every delay is demonic. Sometimes what feels like confusion is really God’s protection.

We don’t like that part, though. Because when we have a plan, we want it to move. We want things to line up quickly, neatly, on schedule. But Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us:

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight."

Leaning not on our own understanding means we stop assuming we know best. Sometimes that job you didn’t get, that relationship that ended, that funding that didn’t come through—that was God saying, “You don’t see what I see. You don’t know what I’m protecting you from.”

We call it confusion. He calls it mercy.

If things feel chaotic, don’t panic. Pause. Pray. Ask God, “What are You teaching me? What are You protecting me from? Where are You redirecting me?” Because His delays are not denial—they’re divine timing.

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The Enemy Attacks What He Fears

Make no mistake—the enemy does attack. And when he does, it often comes disguised as ordinary frustration. Financial pressure. Unexpected delays. Relationship drama. Mental exhaustion. The kind of warfare that makes you too tired to pray, too distracted to focus, too discouraged to keep building.

But here’s what you need to remember: Satan doesn’t waste energy on people who aren’t a threat. If he’s attacking you, it’s because your assignment scares him. If he’s throwing distractions at you, it’s because your focus is dangerous. If he’s stirring up obstacles, it’s because your breakthrough will shift generations.

Ephesians 6:11 tells us to “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.” Why? Because this battle isn’t about bad luck—it’s about purpose.

So instead of folding under the weight, start recognizing what’s really happening. This isn’t random. It’s spiritual. And if the enemy is fighting you this hard, it’s because you’re walking in the right direction.

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Don’t Let the Process Make You Forget the Promise

Here’s where most of us stumble: long battles make us forget what God first said.

Joseph could have let years in prison erase the vision of the palace. Moses could have let wandering in the wilderness overshadow the promise of Canaan. David could have let years of hiding make him believe the crown wasn’t for him.

But they didn’t. They held on. Because the promise was louder than the process.

And God’s word still stands today: “So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” — Isaiah 55:11

If He spoke it, it will happen. Period.

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My Own Lesson in Confusion

I’ve walked through seasons where nothing made sense. Times when I was building, praying, pushing—and still doors closed in my face. Times when I wondered if I had missed God entirely. But looking back, I see His fingerprints even in the delays.

I see how He shut doors that would have destroyed me. How He allowed me to be stripped down so I could be rebuilt stronger. How He let the confusion shake me—just enough to make me stop leaning on my own understanding and lean into Him instead.

The lesson? Confusion is not from God. But sometimes He allows us to walk through chaos so we can learn to hear His voice more clearly in the storm.

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The Final Word

Setbacks don’t mean God has abandoned you. Delays don’t mean you failed. Confusion doesn’t mean you’re lost.

It means you’re being prepared. It means God is protecting you from running ahead of His timing. It means the enemy is terrified of what’s about to come through you.

So don’t quit. Don’t hand over your promise to frustration. Don’t let temporary delays convince you that God has changed His mind. He hasn’t.

The next chapter is still unfolding. And when you look back, you’ll see that the struggles weren’t wasted—they were shaping you into the person strong enough to carry the promise.

What feels like confusion today is just the soil where your faith is learning to grow. And when the harvest comes, you’ll understand: it was never confusion at all. It was God, writing clarity into your story one struggle at a time.

When the Grandmothers Carried U

In my family, there’s a story that has repeated itself across generations—girls becoming mothers too young. My great-grandmother had her first child at 15. My grandmother did too. And so did I. A cycle, almost like a shadow, passed down from one branch of the family tree to the next.

When you start that young, you’re still lost. You don’t have a blueprint. There are no roadmaps or clear instructions on how to raise children while you’re still trying to figure out who you are. So often, there are words left unspoken, lessons never explained, and pain carried quietly. And yet, even in the middle of those cycles, something miraculous kept happening.

The grandmothers rose up.

It was always the grandmothers who carried the weight of the family on their backs. They stepped in, not because they wanted to repeat the pattern, but because they knew somebody had to hold everything together. And with age came a maturity, a strength, a wisdom that shifted them from survival into legacy. They became the backbone, the glue, the keepers of the family flame.

My grandmother was that woman. She wore so many hats with grace that it amazes me to this day. She was a teacher at the very school I attended—so I didn’t just hear about her impact; I witnessed it with my own eyes. She was a nurse at the VA hospital, tending to the wounded and the weary with hands that knew both gentleness and strength. And on top of that, she taught music—bringing life, rhythm, and beauty into spaces that needed it most.

Watching her was like watching a masterclass in becoming. She didn’t sit me down and give me lectures about how to be a woman, how to lead, or how to endure. She showed me. Every morning she got up and put on her shoes. Every job she worked, every student she taught, every patient she cared for, every hymn she sang—she was preaching a sermon without words.

She passed me the knowledge of God and the value of education. She taught me that prayer is not a last resort, but a lifeline. She showed me that books, learning, and wisdom are treasures you can’t lose once they’re inside you. And through her, I saw what resilience really looks like.

From my mother, grandfather, and even my father, I inherited the same spirit of work ethic. Everyone, in their own way, taught me that you don’t fold when life presses in. You stand. You push. You provide. That kind of grit became the fabric of my family.

Still, I can’t ignore the cycle. Mothers too young to mother. Grandmothers carrying the family. Children growing up fast. It could have broken us. But God has a way of planting seeds even in broken soil. He used the grandmothers to be the interruption. To declare without words: this cannot keep going on.

And here’s the beauty: when cycles finally start to break, it’s usually because someone dared to look at what’s been handed down and said, I want more for my children than what I had for myself. My grandmother wanted more. So did her grandmother. They may not have had all the tools, but they poured out what they did have—faith, wisdom, hard work, and love. And that became enough to keep the door open for the next generation to walk through.

I believe that’s why I write, why I lead, why I build. Because I carry the fire of women who refused to let the story end in defeat. Women who worked, prayed, and carried families even when their arms were tired. Women who showed me that you can be the first to start a cycle, but you can also be the one to stop it.

Cycles may try to repeat themselves, but so does God’s mercy. And His mercy rewrites stories.

So today, when I look back on the women who carried me—who carried us—I stand in awe. My grandmother was not just a woman of many hats; she was a woman of legacy. She didn’t just raise children. She raised strength. She raised faith. She raised vision. And that vision now lives in me.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?" — Isaiah 43:19