I was reading Exodus the other day, and I stumbled across something that made me stop and have a little conversation with God.

You know the kind. The one where you're not entirely sure if you're being spiritual or just being ridiculous.

Exodus 8:30-32

> And Moses went out from Pharaoh, and intreated the LORD. And the LORD did according to the word of Moses; and he removed the swarms of flies from Pharaoh, from his servants, and from his people; there remained not one. And Pharaoh hardened his heart at this time also, neither would he let the people go.

Did you catch that? "There remained not one."

Not ONE fly.

Pharaoh, the guy enslaving God's people, hardening his heart, being generally terrible, got every single fly removed. Complete fly elimination. Total fly freedom.

And I'm sitting here in 2026, supposedly on God's team, and I can't get rid of the ONE fly buzzing around my kitchen.

Lord, if You're taking requests, I'd like to submit a formal complaint.

Two Weeks Without Water (And More Flies Than I've Ever Seen)

Let me take you back to Arequipa, Peru. Beautiful city. Second-largest in Peru. Sits at about 7,660 feet above sea level. Known for its stunning white volcanic stone buildings.

Also known, at least in my memory, for having no running water for two solid weeks.

Two. Weeks.

No showers. No flushing toilets the normal way. No washing dishes under a nice stream of water. Just buckets. Lots and lots of buckets.

And you know what loves stagnant water and less-than-ideal sanitation conditions?

Flies.

More flies than I have ever seen in my entire life. It was horrible. I'm talking swarms. I'm talking biblical-plague-level flies. Everywhere. In the house. On the food. Buzzing around your face while you're trying to eat, sleep, think, or pray.

We tried everything. Fly paper. Rolled-up newspapers. Strategic bucket placement. Nothing worked. The flies had taken over, and we were just living in their world.

And then, after what felt like an eternity but was really just fourteen miserable days, the water came back on.

The flies eventually left.

But here's the thing: they didn't all leave at once. There was no divine Moses moment where I entreated the Lord, and suddenly every single fly vanished. They just... gradually went away. One by one. Over days.

And even now, decades later, there's always that one fly. You know the one. The fly that won't take a hint. The fly that dodges every swat. The fly that makes you question your reflexes and your sanity.

The Pharaoh Principle

So, back to Exodus. Moses prays. God answers. Every fly, gone. "There remained not one."

Pharaoh didn't deserve it. He didn't even follow through on his promise. The very next verse says he hardened his heart again. He got the miracle and still refused to let God's people go.

But Moses asked, and God did it.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Austin, this is a ridiculous comparison. You're not Pharaoh. You're not in the middle of the ten plagues. This is just one fly."

I know. I know.

But that's exactly the point.

If God removed every single fly from Pharaoh's house, Pharaoh, who was actively rebelling against Him, why do I still have this one fly doing loop-de-loops around my coffee cup?

It's funny when you say it out loud. It's the kind of prayer request that makes you laugh at yourself even as you're praying it. "Lord, I know there are wars and famines and actual crises happening in the world, but about this fly..."

What I'm Learning (Besides Fly-Swatting Techniques)

Here's what I think God might be teaching me through my ongoing fly saga:

Not every miracle looks the same. Pharaoh got instant, complete fly removal. I got running water back and a gradual decrease in the fly population. Both were answers to prayer. Both were God's provision. They just looked different.

Sometimes the irritation is part of the process. That one fly keeps me humble. It reminds me I'm not in control of everything. It makes me laugh at myself. Maybe that's worth more than a fly-free kitchen.

God's timing isn't always about efficiency. He could remove every fly with a word. He could have given us running water back after one day instead of fourteen. But He didn't. And somehow, in ways I'm still figuring out, those two weeks without water and those flies taught me things I needed to learn.

The real issue isn't the flies. It's never really about the flies. It's about trust. It's about learning to rest in God's love even when life is uncomfortable. Even when the small irritations don't go away as quickly as we'd like.

Pharaoh got his miracle and still hardened his heart. That's the tragedy of that passage. God showed up, answered Moses' prayer completely, and Pharaoh still refused to see God's hand in it.

I don't want to be like Pharaoh. I don't want to receive God's provision and still walk away with a hard heart.

So maybe that one fly is actually a gift. A tiny, annoying, persistent gift that keeps me grateful. That keeps me laughing. That keeps me praying about the small things because God cares about everything.

The Real Exodus

You know what the real exodus is? It's not from flies. It's from the slavery of thinking God only shows up in the big, dramatic moments.

God was in Arequipa during those two weeks without running water. He was there in the fly-infested kitchen. He was there in the frustration and the humor and the prayers that felt ridiculous even as I prayed them.

And He's here now, with this one fly that won't leave.

The question isn't whether God can do miracles. He absolutely can. He removed every single fly from Pharaoh's house. He can certainly handle my kitchen.

The question is: Can I trust Him even when He doesn't?

Can I rest in His love even when the small irritations remain? Can I learn to see His hand in the gradual solutions rather than demand the instant ones?

That's the real work. That's the real exodus, from a heart that demands immediate answers to one that trusts God's timing and methods, even when they look different from what we asked for.

So yes, Lord, if You're taking requests, I'd still love for that fly to leave.

But if You're not, I'm learning to be okay with that too.

Because Your grace is enough. Even in fly-infested kitchens. Even in houses without running water. Even when the miracle looks different from what we expected.

And honestly? That's a better exodus than fly-free living ever could be.

FAQ

Does God care about small problems like flies?

Yes. Jesus said not even a sparrow falls without your Father knowing it. If He cares about sparrows, He cares about flies and running water and all the small irritations that make up our daily lives. Nothing is too small for Him.

Why doesn't God always answer prayers the way we want?

Because He's God and we're not. His ways are higher than ours, and sometimes the answer we want isn't the answer we need. The refining that happens in the waiting is often more valuable than the instant solution would have been.



What do I do when I feel like my prayers aren't being answered?

Keep praying. Keep trusting. Remember that delay isn't denial. And look for the ways God might already be answering that you haven't noticed yet. Sometimes the answer looks different than we expected.