MOLLY HALTER Message shines through the mist

There I was on the sunny, sandy shores of Daytona Beach, Fla. So where was that sense of calm I usually feel after a day or so away from the cares of daily life?
It was midweek, and I still felt like my soul was in a holding pattern. I prayed for God to help me to put my responsibilities in perspective and to simply relax and enjoy the vacation, to rise above the details of my daily life and to see him more clearly.
I sighed, and I picked up the book I'd been reading: "New Seeds of Contemplation," by Thomas Merton.
"The contemplative renounces the will to dominate" he wrote, "and surrenders to the Spirit in and through him."
The words jumped up at me. Ah! The peace I was missing. In my determination to forge on, the focus was on me, not on the Lord.
Westerners are problem solvers, Merton wrote, "infantile -- dealing only with what is possible." That description suited me to a 'T' at that moment.
A solitary figure
Later that afternoon, I walked slowly along the seashore. Far down the beach, a solitary figure approached, walking along the water's edge: a big, old man, barrel-chested, with a cane, who reminded me of my dad.
I was curious. Slightly hunched, a cap on his head, the man slowly plodded up the shore. As he got nearer, I looked out to sea but listened closely to the steady plop, plop, plop of his feet in the water. As he passed by, I stole a look at him from behind, my attention riveted on his legs: The calves were skinny sticks -- no muscle, just thin flesh covering thin bone.
I knew that polio had caused that malady -- just like Dad.
Suddenly, Dad felt near me. My heart caught in my throat. Though my father died in 1995, I sense his presence often comes to me. Now I felt I was seeing a part of him that, despite life's troubles and cares, kept plodding along.
Though he might have bragged to others about us, it was difficult for Dad to show affection or to talk about his love and pride in his 11 kids. Despite the tough times with Dad and his hair-trigger temper, I always knew he wanted us to turn out right, to be honest, to work hard, and, most of all, to depend on God.
Appreciation
Like most children, I grew to appreciate my father as I matured, to understand the immense responsibilities of adulthood and parenthood, and to experience the fickleness of disease, as he did.
A larger wave rolled up and splashed the man's ankles as he walked away. With teary eyes watching him plop, plop, plop on up the beach, I thought, "No fuss with you, Dad. Say your prayers. Relax, it all works out."
"Contemplation penetrates illusion and touches reality," Merton said.
There on the seashore, I was absorbed in those thoughts when foamy waves crashed around me, warmly caressing my calves for an instant before they receded.
In the noisy swell, I heard Dad say, "One step at a time, Molly. One step at a time."
A sense of joy and peace flooded over me. Thanks, Dad; thank you, God.
XMolly Halter is a sacred storyteller. Reach her at christian@cboss.com.