when I come home…

Friday evening during a retreat I had for school, I was walking back to my hotel room. I was not a little, but a lot tired, and really just wanted a chance to sleep, be alone, and who knows what else. Ok, so frankly, my crabbiness still remained. I have a lot to figure out this week, I’m realizing. Especially after this weekend. But as I was heading onto the elevator, my phone started to ring. I almost immediately ignored it, but realized it was a student from Indiana.

My student called, not to talk about her week on the annual mission trip to Mexico, but because she wanted to tell me she loved me. Apparently the day before she was behaving like an idiot, and driving erratically on a country road in Zionsville and literally almost killed herself and her two passengers. The car flipped three times, ejected the guitar from the trunk 50 ft, and a whole other bunch of details that I haven’t retained in the ol’ memory bank.

But since then I’ve been thinking a lot about my motivation for life lately. Unfocused, undetermined, and tired. Where does it come from? Or maybe better put, why do I have motivaion in some of the ways that i do… dangerous stuff to think about.

Off to read in the sun at a park. I like that thought… a lot!

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