He Warned Pharaoh Ten Times—And Still Faced Resistance
Frogs, blood, darkness, and death—until Pharaoh finally broke.
The Nile hadn’t moved in days—just a bad-smelling, reddish-black blob that bubbled near the shore. No fish. No splashing boats. Just silence, aside from the frogs that never seemed to stop croaking.
My name is Amun. I was a linen-dyer’s apprentice in Memphis, one of Pharaoh’s cities along the Nile. When the river turned to blood, I ran to our shop to tell my master. He didn’t believe me until the water he was boiling for cloth dye started to stink. Then he dropped the jug and shouted, “This Hebrew trickster is trying to ruin us!”
By "Hebrew trickster," he meant Moses. Everyone talked about him—once a prince in Pharaoh’s palace, now standing nose-to-nose with the king, demanding that the Hebrew slaves be set free. Most Egyptians thought he was bluffing. But after the Nile bled and the frogs came by the thousands, people started to worry.
I tried to ignore it at first. I didn’t want to believe a Hebrew could make lightning crash just by lifting a stick. But when the lice came, and then the flies, something inside me turned cold.
One night, while scraping dead locusts off our windowsill, I asked my mother, “Why doesn’t Pharaoh just let them go?”
She paused, brushing flour off her hands. “Because his pride is heavier than stone.”
Plague after plague came—boils, hail, darkness so black you couldn’t see your own hand. Fields were wiped out. Livestock died. But Pharaoh still refused.
I remember hiding inside when the hail fell like fire. We heard screaming—from animals, from people caught outside. I curled up behind the dye jars, covering my ears. “Why is this happening?” I whispered. “Doesn’t God see the innocent too?”
That night, my master’s wife came in crying. Their son had been scratched by a falling beam during the storm. He was okay, but for the first time, my master didn’t blame Moses—he sat in silence, staring at the floor. I think he began to wonder, just like me, if this wasn’t just punishment. Maybe it was something greater.
Then Moses said something terrifying: “Around midnight, every firstborn son will die.” Even Pharaoh’s son. Even ours.
We were told to stay inside. Hebrews marked their homes with lamb’s blood—on the doorposts. They said God's angel would pass over homes with that mark. I didn’t understand at the time, but I remember running to my master, begging: “Can we do what they do? Just in case?”
He said no. And that night, Egypt wept.
I still remember the wails—deep and shaking, like the whole nation broke in half. In the morning, Pharaoh finally called Moses. “Go,” he said. “Take your people. Be gone.”
And just like that, the Hebrews walked free—over two million of them. Slaves no more.
I didn’t understand everything then, but I do now: God was not trying to destroy Egypt—He was showing that no king, no power, no stubborn heart could stop His plan to rescue. Every warning was mercy. Every plague was proof. And in the end, deliverance came.
That day, I didn’t just see judgment. I saw that when God speaks, He does not forget His people.
And that made me want to listen.
He Warned Pharaoh Ten Times—And Still Faced Resistance
Frogs, blood, darkness, and death—until Pharaoh finally broke.
The Nile hadn’t moved in days—just a bad-smelling, reddish-black blob that bubbled near the shore. No fish. No splashing boats. Just silence, aside from the frogs that never seemed to stop croaking.
My name is Amun. I was a linen-dyer’s apprentice in Memphis, one of Pharaoh’s cities along the Nile. When the river turned to blood, I ran to our shop to tell my master. He didn’t believe me until the water he was boiling for cloth dye started to stink. Then he dropped the jug and shouted, “This Hebrew trickster is trying to ruin us!”
By "Hebrew trickster," he meant Moses. Everyone talked about him—once a prince in Pharaoh’s palace, now standing nose-to-nose with the king, demanding that the Hebrew slaves be set free. Most Egyptians thought he was bluffing. But after the Nile bled and the frogs came by the thousands, people started to worry.
I tried to ignore it at first. I didn’t want to believe a Hebrew could make lightning crash just by lifting a stick. But when the lice came, and then the flies, something inside me turned cold.
One night, while scraping dead locusts off our windowsill, I asked my mother, “Why doesn’t Pharaoh just let them go?”
She paused, brushing flour off her hands. “Because his pride is heavier than stone.”
Plague after plague came—boils, hail, darkness so black you couldn’t see your own hand. Fields were wiped out. Livestock died. But Pharaoh still refused.
I remember hiding inside when the hail fell like fire. We heard screaming—from animals, from people caught outside. I curled up behind the dye jars, covering my ears. “Why is this happening?” I whispered. “Doesn’t God see the innocent too?”
That night, my master’s wife came in crying. Their son had been scratched by a falling beam during the storm. He was okay, but for the first time, my master didn’t blame Moses—he sat in silence, staring at the floor. I think he began to wonder, just like me, if this wasn’t just punishment. Maybe it was something greater.
Then Moses said something terrifying: “Around midnight, every firstborn son will die.” Even Pharaoh’s son. Even ours.
We were told to stay inside. Hebrews marked their homes with lamb’s blood—on the doorposts. They said God's angel would pass over homes with that mark. I didn’t understand at the time, but I remember running to my master, begging: “Can we do what they do? Just in case?”
He said no. And that night, Egypt wept.
I still remember the wails—deep and shaking, like the whole nation broke in half. In the morning, Pharaoh finally called Moses. “Go,” he said. “Take your people. Be gone.”
And just like that, the Hebrews walked free—over two million of them. Slaves no more.
I didn’t understand everything then, but I do now: God was not trying to destroy Egypt—He was showing that no king, no power, no stubborn heart could stop His plan to rescue. Every warning was mercy. Every plague was proof. And in the end, deliverance came.
That day, I didn’t just see judgment. I saw that when God speaks, He does not forget His people.
And that made me want to listen.
