My church takes high school kids to work with poor people in Mexico every year. Now that I am finally of high school age I really look forward to it. On the trip, we don’t talk to the people much about God—hardly anyone speaks Spanish well enough anyhow. Instead, we show people our faith though our actions. So basically we try to help in any way we can.
Our kids, working with some people in San Diego called SPECTRUM Ministries, go over the border and into the back hills of Tijuana, where thousands of people live in little shacks without running water or sanitation. We set up portable bathhouses, and little kids line up by the hundreds to get a hot shower and a change of clean used clothing. We also distribute food and medicine and sometimes just play with kids in the local orphanages.
If I had to pick someone else I really admire who’s actually around today? Okay, I admit it: I’d choose Mel Gibson. I have gotten to meet lots of famous people such as Oprah, Ellen DeGeneres, and Peter Jennings since my attack, but I’d love to have a conversation with Mel and tell him how much his movie The Passion of the Christ, meant to me. I saw the movie with my family when it first came out. I was moved to tears. Mel made this movie in spite of all the Hollywood people—and even some of his friends—telling him he was nuts. He didn’t think he was wasting his time and money. He went ahead with it because of his faith in God. For this reason, Mel is kind of a missionary in his own way.
The way I see it, that’s what a good missionary does: they spread the word of God through personal example. When I go to the mainland and talk about what happened to me, I always try to say something about my belief in God. I tell people, “God has a lot more to give and to offer than the world has to give. I am here today because of God, and I owe Him a lot.” So maybe someone listening will be inspired to pick up a Bible or go to church and their lives will be better and richer as a result.
Things like that have happened already. I see that God is able to use my story to help others. Once a girl (I never got her name) came up and told me that she had had cancer. When she saw my story it made her realize that she didn’t need to give up; it made her want to fight hard too. She ended by saying, “Now I’m cancer-free.”
I don’t think I had anything to do with curing her of cancer—she did that herself. But if my story made her pledge to battle this disease and beat it with her own strength and willpower, than that would be enough for me.
The other day I got an e-mail telling me about another kid who lost his arm. He is an eighth grader from Raleigh, North Carolina, and he was very athletic like me, only his big sport was wake-boarding. He even had taken up guitar like I was doing before the attack. The lady who wrote me knew that Logan was pretty down, and she hoped that I might be able to cheer him up.
I grabbed the phone, called his house, and said “Hey, Logan, this is Bethany Hamilton from Kauai, Hawaii. You probably heard that I lost my arm to a shark.”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“I just want you to know that I am surfing in the national finals with one arm,” I told him.
“Yeah? Cool,” he replied.
“Look, I know you may not feel great right now. I’ve been there. But I know that you can do a whole lot of stuff, too. You can and you will. Okay?”
Then we chatted some more, and I could feel his mood brightening. “Keep in touch and let me know what you’re up to, okay?” I added. He promised he would, and I know that Logan is on the road back.
I felt great when I hung up the phone—and I think he did, too.
So I hope that kind of makes me a missionary. That would be cool, and I think both Mel and Damien would be stoked—and God would be proud, too.
11
an outpouring
of aloha
Mike Wellman has this shop tucked away in the Waimea Valley of Kauai’s west side. There he makes these beautiful surfboards—some of the most masterful I’ve ever seen. He runs his plane over the large foam surfboard and snowlike flakes of white foam spray in the air with each pass. It’s the coolest thing. He is truly an artist.
Mike has probably made hundreds of surfboards, but there was one, he told me, that was different from all the others. It was made with aloha for a benefit in my name, and I know Mike poured his heart into it.
For those who make Hawaii their home, aloha means much more than a hello and good-bye greeting. It goes way back to the old Hawaiian traditions, and it means a mutual regard and affection of one person for another without any expectation of something in return. Translation: it means you do something from the pureness of your heart.
And it means love. Not just romantic love, but a self-sacrificial kind of love for others. Take the folks from my church: after we got home from resting up in Anahola, we discovered they had come into our house and radically cleaned the place, putting flowers everywhere. It just blew my mind. For two weeks, every night someone showed up with dinner. People kept stopping by offering to help out in any way they could.
I was also really moved by the number of people who wanted to help raise money for my family. At the time, nobody knew how much the hospital bills would be, or even with the health insurance, how much the portion my parents would have to pay. (Remember, my dad is a waiter and my mom cleans rental condos, so we don’t exactly have a lot of bucks in the bank.) Also, people were trying to help get our family set up for any future expenses and the cost of the prosthetic arm. Guesses were that we might eventually need hundreds of thousands of dollars. And the cool thing is, people didn’t ask us, they just looked at the situation we were in and said, “I want to help this family. They’re gonna need it.”
At the fundraiser, people donated over $75,000 to help with our expenses. Can you believe it? We couldn’t. It sure made us feel humble and loved. Jill Smith organized the event and had no trouble getting residents of the island to pitch in. The Rip Curl Company dove right in, too, and helped spearhead the event.
On Saturday, November 15, only a few weeks after the attack, hundreds and hundreds of people (it was hard to count, as people came and went all afternoon) descended on the Marriot Grand Ballroom for a silent auction that included over five hundred items. There were works of art, clothing, and equipment donated from virtually every surf shop on the island, and they filled table after table in the vast hall.
Because I was still trying to build up my strength, it was decided that I wouldn’t attend, which was kind of a bummer because I am the type of person who never likes to miss a fun party—especially one in my honor. Surf movies played nonstop on the huge screen, and shiny new surfboards, each inviting a high bid, lined the wall, including the one Mike had crafted, and one from the personal collection of world champ and Kauai neighbor Andy Irons. But the donations were not just surf-related. There was a case of fine wine, a music CD collection, a stay at the Princeville Resort, and massages by some of Kauai’s professional masseurs.
The food was mostly what is called “light pupus,” which I know sounds gross, but it is the Hawaiian word for finger food or small snack-type food. The people from Kauai Coffee came in and set up a stand selling different kinds of coffee drinks made from Kauai-grown coffee.
On a huge stage, some of the island’s most sought-after names performed: Surf legend Titus Kinimaka, Malani Bilyeu, Kanaloa, Tommy and Malia, and Revival, to name a few. Toward the end of the evening a special guest stepped onto the stage. Rock icon Graham Nash, formerly of the Hollies and the legendary Crosby, Stills and Nash, had come to perform on my behalf. My dad was floored: he told me he hadn’t seen the island come together like this for a cause since the aftermath of Hurricane Iniki in 1992, which devastated all of Kauai. Who would have ever thought I would be as important as a natural disaster!
There was such an incredible mix of people at the benefit for Bethany Hamilton. Tan young surfers with T-shirts and shorts mingled with bankers, doctors, and real estate agents in their expensive aloha shirts and slacks. Surf beaters parked next to new Lexus SUVs in the parking lot. And the members of my Hanalei su
rf team were all there wearing their Friends of Bethany Hamilton T-shirts. They had a picture of me surfing and a gold hibiscus flower, a traditional symbol of Hawaii, on them. More than two thousand of those T-shirts were printed, and all sold out in less than two hours.
The bidding was fast and furious: two guys started a bidding war over a surfboard, and it eventually went for two thousand dollars, the highest single bid of the night. It was unbelievable to think that all this money, all these people who came to this hotel that night, were here for me. I didn’t even know a lot of them! And it made me really think, “Why me?” I mean, why should I deserve all this? But more than that, it made me think that if I get the chance to help somebody in the future, I, more than ever before, am really going to do it.
The folks from my church see how important it is to pay back to other people the kind of aloha and kindness that people, many of whom I didn’t know, paid to me. And as uncomfortable and even embarrassing as it can get having people treat you like you are a serious charity case, the most important thing is to be so grateful and to do the same for somebody else when you get the opportunity.
the world sends get-well wishes
But that aloha spirit wasn’t limited to Hawaii. All over America, even all over the world, people were reading news reports or magazine articles about me and were moved to write a note or a card, often slipping in cash, and mailing it off to the address that Noah had posted on my Web site. Children in classrooms sent me crayon drawings and get-well-soon wishes.
My folks, checking their mailbox, were astounded to find thousands of letters awaiting them. How could they possibly read all of them, much less respond? But they tried, finding good wishes—along with checks or cash, sometimes hundreds of dollars, sometimes a five dollar bill—in the envelopes. All of us were stunned by what was happening. We could understand the aloha that was given to us on Kauai—that’s what we would have done if this had happened to anyone we knew. But for all this kindness to come from people who had heard about my story from the media? Well, we were shocked.
In talks around the dinner table we discussed why this might be happening. I’m a big believer that most people in this world are truly kind, generous, and bighearted, and this supports my theory. I think they heard about this kid who got her arm bitten off and they wanted to simply help out in some small way. My mom’s theory is that there are a lot of people who have a deep faith in God and they wanted to encourage me because I was outspoken about my faith. Dad’s take on it? He thinks many people let their problems get them down and walk around with this “Woe is me” attitude. Well, here I come, determined to get back the life that the shark tried to take from me. No woe—just go, go, go! Maybe I gave them the kick they needed to get back on their feet. In the end, we really don’t know why so many people wrote, prayed, or gave, but we are very, very grateful for each one of them and their thoughtfulness.
One organization, Save Our Seas, heard about what had happened to me and heard me say in an interview that if I couldn’t surf again, maybe I would take surf pictures. So they offered to train me in video and still photography as well as get me scuba-certified and enrolled in a special course for underwater photography. It was an awesome offer that I still might take them up on when I get a little less busy.
For now, I’m just taking things one day at a time. My mom started to keep a big scrapbook with all the articles that were being printed about me. Most of them were pretty accurate and got the basic facts right. Some of the longer articles in magazines actually gave a better picture of all that was going on. A few years from now it will be fun to pull out that scrapbook and read it. Right now, well, we are still adding pages.
12
on being kind
of famous
My first indication that my life would never be the same again came just as we were leaving the hospital. Instead of going out the main entrance, we had to go through this maze of hallways and sneak out a back door.
There were hospital security guards with us, and when we got to our car, there were two Kauai policemen who followed us to a house in Anahola where I could continue to recover in privacy.
My parents explained to me that there was a mob of TV people eagerly waiting to shove microphones in my face. Mom in particular didn’t like this intrusion into our lives: she just wanted me to get better and not be burdened with a million questions. She was being a mom, protecting her daughter. And honestly, I really don’t enjoy being in the spotlight. It’s a really strange feeling, kind of like living in a fishbowl.
Nowadays, everywhere I go people call my name or come up to me. I’m a celebrity of sorts, but I don’t feel very comfortable with it, even though I made the choice to put myself out there. I could have kept quiet after the attack and no one would be watching me on TV. Sometimes you make a choice and you don’t understand exactly everything that goes with it.
This choice is what happened when, sitting with my family and a few close friends at the beach house in Anahola, I decided that I would be willing to go on TV and tell my story; especially if I could be free to talk about how my faith in Christ has helped me. At the time, things were happening very fast: I was more or less being myself in the few interviews that I gave, and that included expressing my belief that God has a plan for me. My mom was a little worried that the media exposure might be too much to handle, not just for me but for all of us. “I’m okay with doing interviews if you guys think that God can use me,” I told her.
My parents pretty much left the decision up to me. If I had wanted to just hide out, they would have been okay with that. And even now, I think that if I decided that I don’t ever want to do another interview again in my whole life they would be fine with that too. Coming to this decision was pretty easy—of course I had no idea what I was getting myself into!
Here’s the thing: a shark story fascinates people. I have to admit, before I was attacked, I liked to watch programs about sharks and all the Jaws movies. (I don’t anymore.) People tend to ask me the same kinds of questions: “Did it hurt?” (Not really.) “What were you thinking?” (Get to the beach, quick!) “Did you see the shark?” (Not very well.) And most of all, “Aren’t you afraid to go back in the water?” (Not really, but every once in a while I get creeped out.) I try not to make a big soap opera out of the shark attack. I would rather focus on what God has allowed me to do in picking up the pieces of my old life and adjusting to parts that are new and different for me. Most of all, I want to use my story as a way to tell people about God’s story. It seems like He has given me the attention of the world for a moment and I had better take advantage of it while I can.
I get stacks and stacks of mail—when the story first broke in the news I would gets hundreds of letters a week! I try to read as many of the letters as I can, but there is no way I could ever write back. I would be busy 24/7 just doing that.
But as my family and I talked about the opportunities for me to tell people about my faith, we decided we needed help coping with all the media craziness that was sure to follow. So we called some of our friends from Kauai who were agents and asked them to be our guide and our buffer.
The first TV show that I was on was 20/20. Whoa! Pretty major. It took hours and hours of film, and all that was on television was about ten minutes of stuff. Chris Cuomo was the guy who flew over to interview me and ask me all kinds of questions: Where were you? What were you doing? How did it feel? Were you scared? And a whole bunch more, so many, that to be honest, I started to get annoyed. I felt like I was being interrogated!
After that, I had lots of phone interviews and told my story a million times (or at least it felt like that). By the second week of November I had been interviewed by Inside Edition, Life Magazine, Sports Illustrated, The Early Show, Good Morning America, The Today Show, and CNN Live. I was everyone’s favorite interviewee. Pretty much everyone asked the same things, so I got pretty good at telling my story. Just one problem: it started to get a little boring and even at times frustra
ting, because I was so sick of talking about me!
Not every interview was torture. One “phoner” I did was with a guy who won the Pipeline Masters contest a long time ago. His name is Joey Buran, and he still surfs but is also a pastor in California. It was cool talking to him, because in a lot of ways he really understood me. I think that’s the biggest problem with these reporters: they have a hard time asking the right questions because they don’t really get what I do or why I do it. So even if they do all their homework, it’s still really hard for them to relate to me or me to them. It’s like we’re talking two different languages.
do celebs ever get to sleep?
A few months after my attack I went traveling around doing interviews on television shows. I was on a show in Los Angeles and then went flying off to do a whole bunch more in New York City. We arrived around 10 PM, and I wasn’t feeling good the whole time. I had a pretty high fever. Everyone who went with me got sick too. We landed at JFK airport during a snowstorm. The airport was filled with angry people who had been grounded by the blizzard or who couldn’t get a taxi to their destination. Me? I had never seen snow before so I was really psyched!
We decided to visit relatives in New Jersey so we rented a car and started driving south. Along the way we pulled off at a restaurant. It was snowing like crazy, and my dad started heaving snowballs at me, which wasn’t fair because I didn’t know how to make them with only one hand (it didn’t take me long to figure it out though). I think he did it to give me the challenge. He knows I never back down from a challenge!
Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board Page 7