When I took differential equations, a long, long time ago, in a place far, far away from where I live now, my very good
professor (at a time when she was a newly hired assistant professor and I may have even sat in on her interview lectures, and also at a time when I was younger and thinner) treated it as a random tool box or Swiss Army knife of options course, without any deeper unity or method to the madness or motivation, sort of like collecting trading cards or fun meal toys.
Applications and practical relevance were introduced mostly through problem sets in the form of word problems. (Do you still call them "word problems" in upper division college math courses reserved for STEM majors who were good at calculus? But I'm spacing on an alternative name for them.)
While that could be pretty dry if done poorly, I recall it as being one of the most fun and entertaining math classes I took in college. She had so much enthusiasm for the topic as a newly hired professor that it was just infectious. It was magical. She left everyone feeling like:
Who wouldn't want to learn another sneaky trick to solve a class of problems (i.e. differential equations) that don't have a general solution that can be used in all cases to solve them analytically? The more you know, the smarter and more capable you are.
We all assumed, somewhat naively, that the problems we would solve with these tools were currently unknown and were waiting out there in the Platonic world of math and physics problems waiting to be discovered, and that we would conquer that world later, when we graduated, once we were well armed with tools our professors had given us, because we trusted our professors to give us tools that were good enough for anything we would encounter.
Having an attitude towards the material that it is exciting and worth knowing about, on an interpersonal and social interaction level, can make up for pretty thin gruel in the area of context and practical applications (even though both of those are out there to be had).