Welcome Home
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Politics and Activism

Welcome Home

Home is about the rich hope found within.

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Welcome Home
Tasha Levert

Upon my acceptance into LSU, I received a pamphlet that read "Welcome Home". I always thought that was a neat sentiment because campus does become an extended part of your home. It is where you spend most of your time throughout the semester; it's a logical connection. Two weeks ago, I made the trek up to Baton Rouge in eager anticipation of setting up my dorm room, starting my new classes, and all of the "welcome to campus" events.

Move-in day was full of activity and emotion followed by another full day right after. Then, on the third day, a Friday, the boredom hit, and with the boredom came a slight homesickness. It's easy not to feel it when you are on the go and busy. I was still loving every second of being an LSU tiger, but it just didn't feel like "home" as all of the purple and gold pamphlets had advertised it would be. After a fairly quiet, rainy day, my roommate sat in our dorm when we got a knock at our door. There was an opportunity through a friend to go serve those affected by the recent flooding in Baton Rouge. Admittedly halfhearted I agreed to go, and the next morning we were up by 7 o'clock. Nothing could have prepared me for the day ahead.

We met up at a church with all of the other volunteers and received a 3-minute crash course on how to gut a home, a Red Cross box, a number, and a pat on the back. We split up into our groups, found our corresponding home-owner, and set on our way to her house and later her sister's house.

Driving to Ms. Donna's* house brought back a myriad of memories from all of our childhoods. That car full of Katrina-kids knew of the despair that we were witnessing. Debris lining the streets, broken tree limbs, cars with caved in windows, and everyone trying to save whatever they could. People in the car spoke of taking nails out of the walls of their house at the age of 7 or the rampant looting in their neighborhood. It was all oddly familiar, in a cold sort of way. The smell of a flooded house, the American Red Cross in the neighborhood, and the dust of drywall filling the air were all too familiar.

Oddly enough, there was also something that welcomed us back with a warm embrace. Hope greeted us in the aftermath of Katrina, and hope came back tenfold in Baton Rouge. It welcomed us home to Ms. Donna's kitchen, and it met us in our held back tears when we were thanked for the little we could do.

Our crew didn't end up gutting a home that day (Ms. Donna decided we would leave that to the professionals), but we did the little we could to help finish cleaning out two homes in preparation for gutting. Afterward, we prayed, and I was floored when we were the ones being prayed for.

Two weeks ago, I found my home away from home. I see now what that pamphlet meant. Home is not just some arbitrary label for where you spend your time. Home is wherever you build it. Home is a place to find human connection and shared experience. A home is much more than the things in it; it is about the rich hope and comfort found with in.


*Names used were changed.

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