Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Have you ever suffered from “imposter syndrome?” Misgivings about what you’ve been called to do.
“Me – teach?”
“Me – sing?”
“Me – help the sick/poor/lonely?”
As an author, I know well the spidery footsteps of doubt crawling up my shoulder …
“You – write?”
“Making up stories is a worthless occupation. What good can fiction possibly do? And romantic fiction? Ha! What a joke.”
And then I walk into a restaurant, an airport, or even my doctor’s office, past artwork and photographs that tell the story of my preferred genre – the West.
Colorful cowboys saddle horses. Log cabins huddle near mountain streams. Old barns and corrals spread before extravagant sunsets. I want to climb into those pictures, escape for a while. I want to smell the dawn sifting through a forest, hear the nicker of a horse at feed time. Run my fingers through the rough hair of a good cowdog.
Someone took those photographs and painted those pictures, someone with a creative gift that touches my heart and offers me the respite I need.
And I finally understand why readers write to me and say they “escaped” into my stories.
You who teach and open the eyes of understanding, you who prepare a meal for someone who needs it or give an hour or a day to those who are sick, hurting, or lonely – you are helping to restore souls. You are offering escape from the suffering, if only for a moment.
Don’t listen to the doubt that tries to strip away your God-given gift.
You are offering respite.
There is restorative value in the gift of giving, whether food, time, physical help, or a listening ear. There is restorative value in song, story, art, and countless other creative expressions.
Thank God He poured creativity into His children. Thank God He lets us walk in His image and share in His touch.
How gracious He is.
Then God said,
“Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us …”
Gen. 1:26 NLT
~Imposter Syndrome Click To Tweet Don't listen to the doubt. Click To Tweet
Cale Hutton was out of his ever-loving mind and Ella told him so.
He smiled. Smiled! “Why, thank you, Miss Canaday. I’ve always considered myself to be an ever-loving soul.”
Steam churned just inside her ears, scalding the words piling up on themselves, stuck behind her gritted teeth.
She’d walk away, but her feet had sprouted roots again—three steps from Mr. Thorson’s tomato-red face. He glared at her as if he’d never seen her before, as if she were an imposter, stealing the spotlight from his star performer. She would be an imposter if she tried such a foolhardy move as riding across the river in Mabel’s stead. Ridiculous. Ridiculous!
And the spotlight was exactly what she did not want, metaphorically or otherwise. ~A Change of Scenery
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