growing some balls.

My classes have been leaving much to be desired.  In a good way.  If I were to give a relatively accurate description of my state of mind after a day of teaching, I would say that it's like having your head decapitated, filled with spiritual marbles, Scotch-taped back together, and then vigorously shaken up by an 8 year-old who has just finished eating a meal of marshmallows and Skittles.  Sometimes I get so confused --  lost in all the abstraction, that I hardly know what we're talking about anymore.  Andrew talks about slices of pies, killing giants, choosing mountains to die on, girding our loins, older interns talk about reaching an arbitrary finish line, "arriving," and shakataya?  What on earth. . .

In all honesty, had I any shred of dignity in my blood, I would have ran for the hills by now.  I would have walked out after the first lecture when Andrew was slapping Jesus into the boys.  "Nutcases," I would have muttered, while slipping out.  Is it faith that grounds me in that uncomfortable black chair every day?  Is it curiosity?  Boredom?

No, it's desperation,
because the hungry get fed.
And, I've got absolutely nothing to lose.  

I've tried living that comfortable life -- coasting my way through a nice, mediocre job, dating a nice boy, being a nice girl, and I was still hungry.
Then, I lived the extraordinary life -- climbing mountains, shouting from rooftops, healing the sick, withstanding battles with illness, and adopting questionable hygienic habits.

Still, none of that stuck. 
I was still hungry.
I was still caught in trial and error.
I was still living life through emotion and circumstance,
tossed and thrown about because of a needy soul.

But I know it's time to grow up and take responsibility for the person I've become.  No one else can speak for me except myself.  There are things of my past that have happened that I have no power to change.   There will always be people whom I have no power to change.  Except myself.