Conversations with Molly

“The best teachers are those who show you where to look but don’t tell you what to see.” Alexandra K. Trenfor

One afternoon, I was reading an article about surrender when I heard a familiar voice say, “You ought to consider that, you know.” The voice was self-confident, tinged with a bit of sarcasm.

“Consider what?” I said out loud. There was no one in the house but me, yet I knew the voice well. It was Molly, my yellow lab, who had passed many years ago. Molly had a way about her both in her life with me and in the afterlife. She had a tendency to pop in when I needed a little direction. Either way, she was just as bossy. And always right. I probably did need to consider what I was reading.

“You need a surrender box, like the article says,” she said rather nonchalantly. I could feel her motherly “know-it-all” edge.

“Would you like to explain?” I asked, exasperated at the suggestion.

I could almost hear her taking a deep sigh as if she had to really make things simple.

“A surrender box,” she said slowly, “is a tool to put all your concerns in — all those worries and burdens you carry around, even desires, hopes and dreams.”

She had piqued my interest. “Is it an actual box?”

“Yes, a real box works best.” She said this as if she were talking to a child. “But there are steps.”

I waited.

“If you need encouragement to use it, decorate it. Color or put stickers on the outside…whatever makes your heart sing. But most importantly,” she said in a serious tone, “you must write those thoughts, concerns, hopes and dreams on a strip of paper you then deposit in the box. In your case,” she continued, “I would first keep a notepad by your bed. Write down whatever wakes you up.”

My eyes narrowed at her suggestion. At this point, I was wondering how much she knew. I mean, I might occasionally wake up middle of the night, my mind racing about…well…things. But how could she know?

I’m certain Molly had been eavesdropping on my life, my thoughts about to-do lists, worries, what-ifs, plans, schedules, dreams, etc. My mind was crowded: it felt like a freeway of thoughts and concerns moving bumper-car-style, where no one thought had any direction and they were all colliding.

“Then what happens?” I asked.

“By putting your concerns in the box, you are taking action to let go. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Let go and let God’?”

I admit I had heard that many times over the years, but I didn’t practice it regularly, perhaps because I was hard-wired to handle things on my own. It was a well-used muscle from childhood. Now I was the one who sighed.

I could tell she was waiting for me to get it.

“So,” I continued rather suspiciously, “if I do this — write my thoughts on paper, put them into a box and let them stay there — what happens next?”

She smiled. I could just feel it. She had me hooked.

“Nothing.”

I was totally confused. Not tracking at all.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Aren’t we supposed to get results from our efforts?”

By this point, I could just see she was filing her nails. Bored. Waiting.

“Effort,” she said in a patient but almost patronizing tone, “is the opposite of surrender. Effort means you are exerting your will in a forceful way. Instead of pausing to take stock of what is happening and allowing help to come forward, you jump to the driver’s seat and take control of the wheel. It’s not unlike a runaway bus being driven by someone not equipped to drive — a teenager, perhaps. Surrender involves letting go, loosening the grip, allowing things to flow without trying to dictate them. By surrendering, you are asking for help on a very deep level. And, you are not in control. You relax and release. You trust,” she said, finishing her tutorial. But not before adding this: “Surely you’ve heard of trust?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I noted dutifully.

“Is that what you did in your life, Molly? You always seemed at ease with whatever was happening. Your feathers never got ruffled, so to speak. And you always seemed to be clear on ‘right action.’ How do we know when to hold on and when to let go?” Now I was all in.

“It’s simple,” she said. “Soften your grip. All-ways.”

My mind went completely silent as I took in her words. It was the opposite of doing…anything. I had relied all my life on being the firefighter in action. I knew what that meant. I knew how to play that role. This surrender box idea felt a little scary, to say the least.

“It’s not giving up,” she continued, obviously picking up on my thoughts. “Consider it like letting cool, flowing water run over your fingers and hands. That’s easy and feels good. The surrender box is the same — easy. You are allowing the potential in any situation to come forth.”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” I grumbled under my breath. As usual, Molly offered practical wisdom. She always was a no-nonsense type of girl —

straight and to the point.

It would be a conversation that played over and over again in my mind and heart.

I am always so appreciative of another perspective, especially one offered from a loving guide, a teacher to the very core, someone who always sees the bigger picture. And in my case, I need a Zen-type approach — sometimes it comes as a whack.

Molly was and is “all ways” that. She calls me on my stuff and shows me an easier way. Animals are the best teachers ever!

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