Since moving to the country and spending a lot of time driving on rural roads, I’ve observed that there seem to be random seasons when more small animals than usual run out in front of cars.
I can go for months without encountering a squirrel, but then suddenly there will be squirrels everywhere doing their spastic little cha-cha in the middle of the road. I have to slalom like an alpine skier to avoid them and the carcasses of their already fallen comrades.
And it’s not just squirrels. During these weird and inexplicable seasons, dead possums, raccoons and even armadillos also dot the roadways. And let me pause here to ask: Does anyone actually ever see a live armadillo? Not me. Not ever.
But worst of all are the dead skunks. They ratchet up the ick factor to a whole other level.
I have quite a healthy fear of skunky roadkill after a most unpleasant experience a few years ago. Some friends and I were driving through the mountains in a van when the car in front of us hit a skunk. In an attempt to inflict a last bit of revenge as he departed this life, the skunk unloaded his entire arsenal and the unmistakable stink immediately poured through the vents in our van.
Once we passed the scene of the mishap, we quickly rolled down the windows to let in some fresh air, but it was too late for my friend who was driving. She was so thoroughly “skunked” she had to leave the clothes she was wearing outside our rental house for the entire weekend.
I think about that experience every time I pass a dead skunk, which is way too often. As soon as I smell it, I know that awful odor could be attaching itself to my clothes and hair and I might arrive at my destination smelling like Pepé Le Pew. Even if I’m just going to Walmart, that isn’t okay.
My husband says I’m a “super smeller” which, believe me, is not a blessing. My reactions when driving past roadkill, especially skunks, can be pretty dramatic. I think Joe enjoys my histrionics and jokes about the “warm, full scent” invading our car, but it’s not funny to me.
It occurs to me I should be equally repulsed by the stench of sin, especially my own sin. Because, oh yes, sin does stink. When we choose to disregard the boundaries and prohibitions God has given us for our good and protection, it’s offensive to God and should be to us. Why? Sin is deadly (Romans 6:23) and dead things stink. We may get used to the odor, but God doesn’t, and His Spirit keeps after us to clean up the dead things in our lives.
The powerful good news of the Gospel is that Jesus knows the foul stench of sin and died so we can experience the sweet aroma of new beginnings and live in close relationship with a perfect, holy God.
When we accept Christ’s atoning sacrifice for our sins, God “cleanses us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9),” but that should never be mistaken for a license to disobey and offend Him. Our heart’s desire should be to bless God—not to earn salvation, but to express our gratitude for it. It’s a testimony to God’s goodness that the things that please Him are also the things that are best for us.
I don’t know why animals who have acres of woods and pastures to enjoy ever venture anywhere near roads. I guess their itty-bitty brains don’t understand how dangerous it is. The more important question is why we bigger-brained humans ever transgress the boundaries our loving heavenly Father sets for us.
Squirrels may not know better, but we should.