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black volcanic rock loomed out into the sea. Around that point in the ocean steamed head-high waves that marched toward the beach before suddenly pitching forward, like a huge arm reaching for shore.
    Bethany spotted a surfer racing across the standing wave. She motioned for Malia to watch while he tucked himself into a ball as the lip of the wave tossed over him, placing him in the tube for a few seconds before spitting him out in a burst of spray.
    “Wooo! Looks like fun, Malia! And it isn’t too big — just fun size.”
    “I wish I hadn’t hurt my shoulder playing tennis the other day!” Bethany’s mother said wistfully.
    “What’s that you always say?” Bethany patted her mom’s arm. “The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree!”
    Bethany winked, and Malia laughed. The wind and waves had erased whatever it was that was troubling her, and Bethany could tell her best friend was itching to hit the surf.
    Within moments, the van was parked, sunscreen applied, surfboards waxed up, and the girls were trotting quickly along the sand toward the paddle-out spot.
    Bethany glanced over her shoulder as her mom pulled out the video camera and tripod from the back of the van. She gave her mother one last wave, and her mom waved back before turning to talk with a group of tourists who were slowly encircling her. Bethany shook her head as she continued to jog toward the ocean.
    Bethany still didn’t get it — all the attention of people wanting to have their pictures taken with her and wanting her autograph. She didn’t get it, but she was trying.
    “What an awesome opportunity you’ve been given!” she remembered her mom whispering to her after an interview at the hospital. “To share your faith with so many — people you might have never met if this hadn’t happened.”
    Yet, she didn’t know how she was going to help someone else when she was just learning how to help herself.
    Bethany felt Malia reach for her hand as their bare feet slapped on wet sand — time to pray. Malia had picked up the habit from Bethany — and Bethany from her father, when she was first learning to surf.
    The prayer was simple. Bethany, aloud and without shame, thanked God for his creation and for the privilege of enjoyment he had given. Then she asked that he would give them his protection while in the water.
    Considering what she had gone through only a year ago, the request had a powerful ring to it —one that seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment.
    “Amen,” both girls said at the same time and then laughed and sprinted out into the waves.
    The first twenty feet of ocean bottom was covered with thick, large-grained sand. After that, it was replaced by coral-encrusted rocks that fanned out into a sharp reef. The girls quickly scrambled onto their boards as the bottom turned rocky, and then they paddled toward their surfer’s playground on a riptide.
    Rips, as they’re known by surfers, are spent waves that create their own pathway back to the ocean in a kind of a reverse but under-the-surface river. They also cause the greatest danger for visitors, small children, or those unfamiliar with the ways of the ocean. Most people who have drowned in the waters around Hawaii stepped into a riptide and were dragged out to sea by an invisible surge far too strong to swim against.
    Surfers like Bethany and Malia, with their greater understanding of the ocean and its dangers, often use a rip to get a free ride out to the action.
    The girls ended their trip on the rip by racing each other to the lineup, laughing and duck diving under several clean but not terribly powerful waves along the way.
    The other faces in the water were familiar ones — like Pete, the old-school guy on a thick, long board who actually surfed wearing a baseball cap to protect his balding head. To keep track of his hat, Pete had leashed it to his leather necklace. The other surfer watching the next set of waves was Eddie, a hefty, dark Hawaiian guy