College Essay Final
My Kind of Paradise
I am completely caked in black paint but I don’t care. I step into the one way dirt road and turn back to view the finished house, glistening with
freshness. It stands out among the surrounding broken down and beat up houses, unable to nurse their bruises and cuts. The owner of the house squeezes my hand and wipes away tears as she hugs the rest of my worksite group. She whispers, “Thank you dear Lord, you have brought me hope,” just causing her tears to fall faster. All eight of us put our arms around each other and absorb the rustic, beautiful home sticking out like a
sore thumb in front of us.
During this week, the simple, rundown town; with barely survivable conditions became my heaven. After being born and raised in a dedicated Catholic family, my head was already jammed with meaningless facts and information about a topic I had no interest in. It was something I had learned to tolerate for sixteen long years and finally wanted to figure out what it’s purpose was. When I was offered to go onto the mission trip, something inside of me jumped with curious anxiety, and to my surprise, I spoke the three letter word that changed my life forever. I said yes.
The town of Vacherie, Louisiana is the most beautiful town I have ever seen. It does not have glamorous houses stretching up into the clouds, or shopping malls crawling with make-up caked teenagers. The streets are not crowded with frustrated drivers honking impatiently at the back up, stretching for miles beyond their eyesight. No. Vacherie is silent. The 3,543 residents mostly live in run down trailers, with rotting foundations and broken window panes. Beer bottles are scattered around uncut lawns, and moldy paint peels off in the brutal Louisiana heat. The people spend most of their time outside, sitting in rusty lawn chairs, and sharing polite conversations. We pass them in my chaperons pick-up truck. It towers above them all and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as I ducked my head away from the window to hide my scarlet red face.
My work site was the equivalent to a brick shack, barely standing, barely surviving. I couldn’t help but smile as a frail elderly women rushed out of the shack, pulling her 40 year old son behind her to come meet us. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, she embraced me in a tight hug as if she had known me for years. The aromas of cigarettes and ancient perfumes cascaded around me, causing my eyes to water, but her glowing smile and glistening eyes seemed to pierce through my heart and I couldn’t help but grin back. She proudly introduced herself as Alice, and proceeded to show us around her house as if it was a castle. We set to work power washing and scrubbing the brick until every grain of dirt was blown away and Alice was satisfied. A midnight black coat of paint was applied to the massive shutters and the carport’s overhang was covered with a paper white gloss. My mosquito bitten hand reached up to wipe a drop of sweat off my forehead before it could slip down my face. I gave a satisfied sigh as the last brush stroke was completed, and I stepped back to look at the majestic piece of work.
I thought back to the day I arrived in this paradise. The van jolted me awake as it turned onto an uneven dirt road. As I peered through the front window, a faint outline of a church could be made out and my heart jumped. I gently shook my friend awake off my shoulder and quietly pointed out the church to her. She nodded unenthused, and shifted back into deep slumber. The fog lifted off the dewed grass when we came to a stop and as I stepped out of the van, my hair frizzed in the Louisiana humidity. The beautiful scent of countryside filled my nose; replacing the annoying gasoline city air. The sun rose as the moon waved goodbye, thousands of stars trailing behind it. I turned in every direction to absorb it all. I had never been here before; but I was home.
I am completely caked in black paint but I don’t care. I step into the one way dirt road and turn back to view the finished house, glistening with
freshness. It stands out among the surrounding broken down and beat up houses, unable to nurse their bruises and cuts. The owner of the house squeezes my hand and wipes away tears as she hugs the rest of my worksite group. She whispers, “Thank you dear Lord, you have brought me hope,” just causing her tears to fall faster. All eight of us put our arms around each other and absorb the rustic, beautiful home sticking out like a
sore thumb in front of us.
During this week, the simple, rundown town; with barely survivable conditions became my heaven. After being born and raised in a dedicated Catholic family, my head was already jammed with meaningless facts and information about a topic I had no interest in. It was something I had learned to tolerate for sixteen long years and finally wanted to figure out what it’s purpose was. When I was offered to go onto the mission trip, something inside of me jumped with curious anxiety, and to my surprise, I spoke the three letter word that changed my life forever. I said yes.
The town of Vacherie, Louisiana is the most beautiful town I have ever seen. It does not have glamorous houses stretching up into the clouds, or shopping malls crawling with make-up caked teenagers. The streets are not crowded with frustrated drivers honking impatiently at the back up, stretching for miles beyond their eyesight. No. Vacherie is silent. The 3,543 residents mostly live in run down trailers, with rotting foundations and broken window panes. Beer bottles are scattered around uncut lawns, and moldy paint peels off in the brutal Louisiana heat. The people spend most of their time outside, sitting in rusty lawn chairs, and sharing polite conversations. We pass them in my chaperons pick-up truck. It towers above them all and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as I ducked my head away from the window to hide my scarlet red face.
My work site was the equivalent to a brick shack, barely standing, barely surviving. I couldn’t help but smile as a frail elderly women rushed out of the shack, pulling her 40 year old son behind her to come meet us. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, she embraced me in a tight hug as if she had known me for years. The aromas of cigarettes and ancient perfumes cascaded around me, causing my eyes to water, but her glowing smile and glistening eyes seemed to pierce through my heart and I couldn’t help but grin back. She proudly introduced herself as Alice, and proceeded to show us around her house as if it was a castle. We set to work power washing and scrubbing the brick until every grain of dirt was blown away and Alice was satisfied. A midnight black coat of paint was applied to the massive shutters and the carport’s overhang was covered with a paper white gloss. My mosquito bitten hand reached up to wipe a drop of sweat off my forehead before it could slip down my face. I gave a satisfied sigh as the last brush stroke was completed, and I stepped back to look at the majestic piece of work.
I thought back to the day I arrived in this paradise. The van jolted me awake as it turned onto an uneven dirt road. As I peered through the front window, a faint outline of a church could be made out and my heart jumped. I gently shook my friend awake off my shoulder and quietly pointed out the church to her. She nodded unenthused, and shifted back into deep slumber. The fog lifted off the dewed grass when we came to a stop and as I stepped out of the van, my hair frizzed in the Louisiana humidity. The beautiful scent of countryside filled my nose; replacing the annoying gasoline city air. The sun rose as the moon waved goodbye, thousands of stars trailing behind it. I turned in every direction to absorb it all. I had never been here before; but I was home.