What is more calming than a summer night?

The heat of the day has dissipated, leaving behind a gentle breeze that whispers in the trees and ruffles the bodies of water.  As dusk deepens, the fireflies begin emerging, at first cautiously, in pockets of two or three, and then in full force until the trees are bejeweled wonders.  And around and behind and over all else is the ceaseless music of the little creatures tucked away in the trees:  cicadas, katydids, crickets, tree frogs. 

It’s a relaxing state, a chance to unwind after a long, hot day and absorb some of the evening’s peace.  It’s also one of the few times when it is not dangerous to take my heat-intolerant dogs outside.  They enjoy going for leisurely walks at this time of day, trotting down the road and exploring their surroundings as evening falls. 

Yet during these walks, I’ve begun to notice something strange, something that is unexpected and a bit disturbing.  As we traverse our asphalt course, we frequently find frogs and toads squatting on the road. 

Over the course of the summer, I’ve seen all kinds.  There are the smooth, slick water frogs, moist bodies glistening.  Some of these frogs feature beautiful yellow stripes along their back and legs, and all have webbed feet for swimming.  The opposite of these large frogs are the tiny hylas, or “peepers.”  These minuscule creatures, most less than an inch in length, spend their winters burrowed under the mud in roadside ponds or bogs.  With the advent of spring, they rise to the surface and sing their hearts out all summer long.  The most abundant species I’ve seen seems to be the toads.  They can be differentiated from frogs by their habitat—toads live on land, while frogs require water—and their appearance.  Toads are chubbier than frogs, lack webbed feet, are usually a monotone beige color, and have a rough, bumpy skin. 

Yes, I’ve seen a full menagerie of amphibian species this summer—not in a pond, or in a field, but on the road.  To them, sitting on the highway makes sense.  Both toads and frogs are cold-blooded animals.  Whereas humans and mammals are warm-blooded, manufacturing our own body heat through internal processes, amphibians like toads and frogs can’t produce heat on their own.  Instead, they must absorb it through their skin from an external source—the same way we might supplement our body’s warm-bloodedness with a heated blanket in the winter.  Cooler temperatures not only cause discomfort for these animals; they also decelerate their body processes, like digestion, heart rate, and cognitive function (yes, there is actually activity happening inside a frog’s head!).  During the day, the heat of an Arkansas summer keeps these creatures fully energized, but at night, the temperature gradient sends them looking for a substitute.  And they choose…the road.

On one hand, it’s a smart choice and one that shows how God designed animals with the ability to adjust their lifestyle to accommodate human development.  The black asphalt soaks up more heat during the day than almost any other surface; thus it retains that heat well after everything else has cooled.  For these amphibians, basking on the road is like lying on a giant heating pad.  However, on the other hand, this is a terrible decision…one that makes me concerned for these small creatures.  The reason, of course, is that while the road may be warm, it is by no means safe. 

Huddled on the heated blacktop, the frogs and toads seem to let their guard down and become less-than-alert to their surroundings.  They’re also extremely resistant to leave the warmth that feels so nice.  Thus, when a car comes roaring through the night, the creatures don’t even flinch at the headlights—and as you can imagine, the results are disastrous.  Even beyond the cars, other serious dangers await.  A main predator of frogs and toads is snakes.  And guess what?  Snakes are also cold-blooded and seeking the warmth of the road.  Any intelligent snake quickly learns that the road provides both heat and food—and the frogs and toads continue to fall into this trap.  Even if they manage to dodge the cars and the snakes, sitting on the road makes them vulnerable to being trampled by pedestrians, and of course, my dogs take a heightened interest in these creatures and would probably snack on some without my intervention. 

Even worse, sitting on the road takes frogs and toads to a place where their main defenses don’t work.  For example, a toad has been equipped by God with two ways to protect itself—swell up and play dead to discourage predators, or use the sharp spurs on its hind legs to dig into the ground for safety.  Obviously, snakes and cars alike are unfazed by swollen toads, and it would take far more power than an amphibian has to tunnel through asphalt.  At the moment these creatures feel the best, they are actually in the greatest danger.

Doesn’t that sound familiar?  It’s one of the errors for which we as humans are famous.  No, we don’t huddle in the middle of dark roadways (hopefully!), but we run to other things just as dangerous.  All is fine during the daytime, when the sun shines brightly and our spirits are warm.  But when night falls, things change.  Darkness envelops our worlds—maybe in a phone call from a doctor, an overdue bill that can’t be paid, a rebellious child or a distant spouse or a traitorous friend.  The cold isn’t just around us; it’s inside our souls.  And we become desperate to ward off the chill, desperate to find some way to feel whole and safe again.  But that desperation can take us to some scary places. 

And the real problem is that we don’t know they’re unsafe.  We might have reservations, at least at first, but we can quickly brush those aside because it feels so right!  It can’t be bad, because it makes us feel good.  It numbs the pain, warms the chill, and disguises the ache.  How can that be wrong?  And so we relax on what feels like a warm, comforting surface, while in actuality, it’s a death trap. 

The Israelites did this.  The book of Judges is a sad story—the tale of a nation that slipped from a lofty position as a true theocracy to a scattered collection of territorial tribes, descended into the filthiest kinds of sin.  What caused such chaos?  At the end of the book, the answer is provided:  “In those days there was no king in Israel.  Every man did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25 ESV).  It’s a sobering exhibition of the consequences of seeking pleasure at any cost.  There was no leader because the people had rejected their own true King—God Himself.  Their “god” became their own sinful appetites.  The need to numb pain and satisfy desire was the only law they followed. 

Yet notice something interesting.  The verse doesn’t say, “Every man did what was pleasing in his own eyes.”  It doesn’t say, “Every man did what was necessary in his own eyes.”  It doesn’t even say, “Every man did what made sense in his own eyes.”  It says, “Every man did what was RIGHT in his own eyes.”  As frightening as this thought is, it appears that the Israelites didn’t view themselves as the rebellious, ungodly people they were.  This verse makes it obvious that they thought all was well.  They believed that by doing what felt good, they were doing what was “right” for them.  How quickly our emotions can become our compass…and what a fickle compass it is.

What happened in Israel happens to us:  the “roadways” we run to are dangerous because our judgment becomes clouded.  However, there’s a second deadly consequence:  our resistance becomes misdirected.

To illustrate this point, let’s return to the story of the frogs and toads.  As someone who has been known to cry over the death of a beetle, I can’t begin to leave these creatures on the road to accept their fate.  So I stop my walk and try to gently move them to the ditches, where they’ll find safety.  It’s not a good idea to pick up an amphibian, because touching their skin can disturb its special protective coating as well as irritate human flesh.  However, I gently nudge them toward the margin of the road with my foot.  The idea is that they will take this cue and begin hopping off the road of their own volition.  Unfortunately, that’s not usually what happens. 

Instead, the frog or toad will immediately inflate itself into a puffball of indignation and cling even more persistently to the warm pavement.  If I continue to nudge it, it might close its eyes and refuse to budge, or even roll onto its back in a display of mock death so that I will leave it alone and allow it to remain on the road.  Instead of welcoming my concern and being grateful that I am saving it from almost certain death, it acts as if my intervention is an intrusion.  I am generally forced to resort to shoving the amphibian off the road while it resists the entire time. 

It’s an ironic twist; the toad or frog views me as a threat to its warm, secure location.  But actually, I am its savior, rescuing it from that very place it finds so appealing.  That is what I mean when I say that our resistance becomes misdirected.  Instead of using our energy and resources to resist the temptation to crawl onto the road in the first place, our priorities become completely flip-flopped.  We channel all our fight—and animosity—toward anyone or anything that would remove us from the environment—even God. 

Consider the story of Saul.  After the chaos of the era of Judges, Israel decided that civic order needed to be restored.  However, they believed the way to do that was not to return to God, but to instate a human king.  Saul, the first monarch of Israel, provided some political stability but not much spiritual reform.  Instead, he found the moral relativism of the culture to be quite enticing.  Although at the beginning of his tenure he habitually consulted the prophet Samuel to receive God’s guidance, he ultimately began taking more and more into his own hands.  Finally, when he offered an unauthorized sacrifice to God, he had arrived at the place where his punishment was sure and the collapse of his reign imminent, and even though Saul had insulted and shunned Samuel, the prophet returned to warn Him.  Wouldn’t you think Saul would be grateful, overwhelmed to know how close he had come to destruction?  Instead, he offered up excuses, rationalizing his behavior, continuing to shift the blame, and directing his anger at Samuel. 

How tragic!  Saul was the one disobeying, the one running to a “warm road” to inflate his own pride.  Yet the thing that made him feel so good—holding power in his own hands—was the thing that would destroy him.  And since Samuel’s warning collided with Saul’s own inclinations, he directed his resistance not toward his own evil tendencies, but toward the one who loved him enough to correct him. 

We all experience that temptation to run to warm roads.  The nights get cold on this earth, and the pavement looks like just the thing to warm us up and give us life again.  But don’t be fooled.  It may look good, and it may feel good, but it is deadly.  Don’t believe the lie that you can find fulfillment there.  And if you see someone else on the asphalt, don’t ignore them.  They may not appreciate your warning at first, but you will have done what God requires of us:  “If you warn the righteous person not to sin, and he does not sin, he shall surely live, because he took warning, and you will have delivered your soul” (Ezekiel 3:20-21 ESV).

Did you enjoy this post? How do you help those who are clinging tenaciously to “warm roads”? Let me know in the comments, and as always, don’t forget to subscribe!