Welcome!

I’m asleep on a beach in Malaga, Spain. I’m only about six or seven. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my older brother sprinkling a thin layer of sand over every jellyfish surrounding me. The beach is dotted with them. Their sting is fierce. We’re only a year-and-a-half apart, and although I love having an older brother, I also need a third eye to keep up with his shenanigans. I guess I’m not really asleep. I’m watching him, squinting and making a mental note where not to step.  

Plan complete. He yells out, “Sherah, Mom’s calling.” I play his little game and act all sleepy, yawning and stretching, as I “wake.” I stand, and tip-toe towards him, missing every sand-covered jellyfish. He looks bewildered. I say nothing. I won his little game, but there will be many more to come. 

We are not just at the beach for the day. We live on the beach. Free “camping” with a public outdoor spigot to rinse the sand away at the end of the day that never really goes away. Grit crunches every time I take a bite, it’s embedded in every orifice of my body. My bathing suit bottom is so weighed down, I look like I’ve pooped my pants. As a missionary family, all we own is a van, a tent, and a camp stove, but who cares—if you have an ocean view? I cared —sometimes, when I collapsed on sandy sheets, after sweeping out our tent for the hundredth time. 

We lived there that whole summer. By August we found refuge in a farmhouse outside Madrid. When we met the wealthy landowners, we lined up in our corduroy patchwork outfits that my Papa had sewn, and we sang our hearts out. The von Trapp family wasn’t the only family to use their voices. Our family of nine spent the fall cracking fresh almonds from the orchard, playing in the wheat fields till the lazy afternoon we fell asleep among the hay bells bales and almost got run over by a harvester. 

At dusk, we were called in for a dinner of popcorn cereal with bananas. It covered all the main food groups and satisfied our wiry troop. The trick is to eat it quickly once you pour the milk over the popcorn, bananas, and honey, as popcorn tends to get soggy in a hurry. Garlic was another ever-present ingredient, touted for its anti-fungal and anti-bacterial properties, or so we were told. Sometimes, every meal started with a head of garlic, even the scrambled eggs for breakfast. But, hey, my parents raised 11 healthy kids, so it must have worked! 

This is just a snapshot of my life as a third-cultural kid. There are so many snapshots, that I've finally decided to start sharing them one at a time—past and present. I hope that you'll find amusement, a kindred spirit, learn something new, be comforted, or be inspired to step out of your comfort zone and create or explore. I trust my stories will enrich your life. After all, what is life without our shared humanity?