Earlier this week, I came across an article written by a fellow Baylor student, titled "Finding Home in Unfamiliarity". Her words were so understood. As a Waco native of twelve years, I couldn't exactly relate to finding home in an unfamiliar place, but the idea hit home a little differently.

During my college search, I realized that most of my classmates were desperate to get out of Waco. Although I wasn't dying to leave this town behind, I was excited at the prospect of exploring a new city. I considered schools in beautiful parts of the country, and my only real concession with deciding to go to Baylor was having to stay in town. While my friends were prepping for moving long distances, I left my house twenty minutes before I arrived on campus to move in. Of course, it was technically moving to a different city (I'm from a suburb outside of Waco) but I lived close enough to visit Baylor frequently growing up. I loved Baylor, but I wished that it was at least a short distance from home to get the "real college experience".

Over the last two months, I've gotten a complete turn-around. Although I live close enough to run by my house casually whenever I want, I've had to adjust. I now redirect my GPS to campus instead of Robinson when I'm heading "home" from somewhere new. It's weird to know more about campus and the surrounding area than most of my friends, but thankfully I'm still directionally challenged enough to at least pretend I'm a visitor here. Since I see my parents a little more frequently than most, I have to be a lot more intentional about seeing them. It's not like they're only in town every so often, so it's easier to want to hang out with friends.

At my Baylor Line Camp, all of the leaders stood in a line and took turns announcing to the group their experience of "how Baylor became my home". Some of them referred to momentous occasions, and others recounted stories of melting plastic ware in a dorm microwave. For me, it wasn't such a marked moment. Moving away from home, but not very far away, became a weird transition. It was weeks before it stopped feeling like I was at another overnight camp. But, Baylor did become my home. I don't know if it was trudging all the way from my dorm to the theatre building (a fifteen or twenty-minute walk each morning) and how much I appreciated the first cool-ish day, or if it was the time my roommate and I swiped into Memorial just to fill up a to-go box with cookies. It could've been running the Baylor Line for the first time, or the first Baylor football game I attended as a student, instead of a wide-eyed ten-year-old. It may have been when one of my professors prayed over us, or when I made my first college friends, or when I referred to going to my dorm room as "going home". All I know is, Baylor is my home.

When people find out where I'm from, I almost always get asked "So, did you always know you wanted to go to Baylor?" I didn't. If I'm being one hundred percent honest, I wasn't completely sure until after I moved in here. But, I'm now sure that Baylor is the place God has sent me to for the next four years. Baylor is an incredibly special place, and I see God working through it every day. I have never before felt so loved and encouraged than here, at a school that fulfills both my desire to learn with my desire to seek Christ and serve Him. I've only really been here for about seven weeks, but already I am so thankful for Baylor and the adventures the next four years will bring.

Sic 'em.