Walking With Molly—Part 2

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Walking With Molly—Part 2

by Shelley Knick

Training sessions with Molly continued to grow deeper, offering more insights. One day, in particular, still stands out. In the world of Washington state weather, the days seem to vacillate between romantic summers, painfully harsh winters, and chronic in-betweens of blah. Routine walks would often take on the temperament of the weather. Which is to say, Washington weather and Washington moods are not that far apart.

Molly, however, became a constant for me. Her mood was steady when mine was not. It was humbling how she looked at me with admiration and reverence. She lived for our time together. Molly had a past that was unknown to me. When she came into my life, I knew nothing about how she might have been abandoned. I knew only that she looked like she had recently nursed a litter of puppies and was now discarded. She had lived some years and accumulated some experiences. Her path had refined her, and this intrigued me.

Like Molly, at that time, I was a mother without her children and geographically far from my family. Unlike Molly, I had not been used and abandoned along a country road. My story wasn’t overtly tragic. But I had accumulated enough years and experiences to leave my soul familiar with being dislocated in life, detached from purpose, and seeking to resolve an ache that consumed me. When Molly arrived, she came with her breeding mate. He was strong and relentless in his will. When they were together, she was his. After we found him a new home, she and I walked together like two women in their thirties trying to figure out our purposes together.

Something about her poise and elegance made me proud of her, though I wasn’t responsible for these qualities. It was admiration. I wondered what it would be like if she knew how I thought of her. If I felt this way towards her, I considered how similarly God thought of me as we walked.

Then I imagined her growing insecure and anxious because she had big ambitions that she wouldn’t have if not for knowing me. What if she began pressuring herself to stand up on two legs, to walk and talk with me? Would she grow guilty and wrecked with self-defeat because she couldn’t do more human things? This seemed ridiculous to me. My impulse would be to kneel down to her, hold her sweet face in my hands to remind her, “We are two different species my dear. You are missing the point here.”

Tears filled my eyes when I thought about God seeing all my trying and failing and holding me close nonetheless. He likely saw effort, fight, and perseverance—qualities He respected, perhaps admired. Likewise, he saw my impatience and demanding responses to failed expectations. It hit me

that I was ambitious to be awesome like God rather than awesome with God. When we walk with God, we become a unit. Ultimately, we share in God-Likeness because of our harmony. He offers transcendent qualities beyond our species. We offer him a vessel, a character, and a reach that is uniquely human. Absent of Him, our striving is in ego. In truth, He teaches us that relationship is transformative and transaction is religious.

Inevitably, Molly gets distracted and defaults to her animal instincts. In response, I apply training techniques on the walk to bring her mind back to calm submission. Restoring our peace becomes my primary objective, as it is with God. “Like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be recovered, so we must die. But that is not what God desires; rather he devises ways so that a banished person does not remain banished from him” (2 Sam. 14:14).

About The Author Shelley is an aspiring writer. She is also a nurse, a wife to her high school sweetheart of 22 years, a brand-new mama to their miracle baby, and a new resident of Rome after moving from Washington state.