One morning this week while I was teaching Ed and Ruth seminary, a fly kept bugging me. A sluggish, weak fly. So I swatted it with my hand. It crumpled up on the ground, dead. Since I was busy teaching, I left the carcass on the rug. A couple of minutes later, the fly started staggering along the rug. I couldn't believe it! A Lazarus fly? I didn't want it to pester me again, though, so I flicked at it, and as it tumbled to the floor the two ants carrying it from underneath scurried away.