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hunterseat df: Hunter Seat Equitation is a division that is judged on the ability and the style of the rider. The riders can be judged both over fences and on the flat.

Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.

And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.

Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
Rating: 2 votes, 5.00 average.

Poser or Imposter?

Posted 07-04-2015 at 12:16 PM by hunterseat


Not sure why my brain works the way it does. I mean, why do I latch onto ideas that seem so banal yet drive me crazy? At this moment I’m typing on my laptop in a motel room where I’ve lived for the past three weeks – with one week to go. Not so bad, you think? Add a large man, small dog, medium dog and a cat and rethink the scenario. We await the closing ceremony – should be a ceremony – of our new home after relocating a thousand plus miles. (Did I tell you about the trip? Me driving the 16ft Penske, pulling my Isuzu with the whiney dog and the cat while my other half cruises along comfortably in his pick-up with the good dog?) Upon arriving at the motel, having no kitchenette and little walking space, we set about making the space as livable as possible. But it’s still not home.

Fast forward two weeks when I’m out walking the dogs one morning. A friendly couple spoke to me as they packed their car to leave. “It’s just like home!” the woman exclaimed with a smile. I stiffened, feeling my hackles rise. “What did you say?” I checked my pockets for a weapon. (It’s been a long 3 weeks.) The couple exchanged glances with an appropriate level of pity for the motel-dweller and explained. “We have a Black Lab and a Chihuahua at our house!”
“But she’s not a Chihuahua!” I began as they climbed into their car and pulled out. “And he’s not a Lab!” I addressed their disappearing tail lights. In reality it was humorous. We relocated from an area with a large and pleasant Hispanic population. Numerous times while walking the dogs I heard the Spanish dialogue of children infused with the word Chihuahua. It really doesn’t bother me that my Min-pin cross is mistaken for a Chihuahua and she certainly doesn’t mind. So that recent morning it occurred to me, in a way, they’re posers. They pose as Chihuahua and Labrador. Everyone thinks that’s what they are. Not their fault but also not intentional. That started me thinking about the difference in posers and imposters. I do think imposters intentionally deceive. That seems worse.

If I dress up in glamorous clothes (superior thrift shop scores), lavish costume jewelry (easy to afford) and expensive shoes (the one thing I don’t mind spending good money on) and I go out on the town, I might consider myself a poser. I’m having fun posing as a rich woman, possibly an heiress or celebrity or another important person. With the right carriage and tilt of the nose, it’s easy to pull off. But if I’m duping people into investing in me or if I tell tall tales of my economic conquests and superiority, I’m an imposter. That’s not a good thing.

So, in the past couple of days, as I went about the task of living, I looked at different situations. Work: it’s a new job and I love it. If I got the job because I embellished my resume a bit but I knew I’m qualified and could do a good job then I’d consider that a poser. If I lied on my resume and got the job with no clue how to actually perform the duties required, that would make me an imposter. As it is, my resume is accurate and I’m totally qualified and proficient. Now I'm posing as a modest person.

Yesterday was a bit spiritual for me as we jogged along the Trolley Trail. Three years ago we frequently walked the dogs along the Trolley Trail. Before leaving for our year in Hawaii, we took one last visit to the beloved trail. My other half jogged ahead and I slowed to a walk, feeling emotion well up within me, not sure if I’d ever see the beauty of this place again. As I turned my heart to my Heavenly Father, cuz that’s just how close we are, I lamented. As if audible words had met my ears, His unmistakable words met my heart, “I will show you something more beautiful.” That reassurance bolstered my confidence and I was able to suffer a year in Hawaii, where the beauty is certainly beyond compare.

Coincidentally, a bird there became my favorite. There were many more beautiful but none more fascinating to me than the Golden Plover. It was a poser. More like a double poser. We arrived in the winter when the modest little brown bird seemed nondescript. But there were so many of them I remarked to my friend about them. “Oh,” she said. “You won’t even recognize them in a few months. They change colors.” She casually brushed a fleck of dust from the front of her Aloha-shirt. Catching my look of skepticism she tried to explain. “Their feathers turn to black and white and their eyes look really long” she drew out the word, gesturing with both hands at her own eyes pulling imaginary cat-eye shapes into thin air. I’m pretty sure my look changed from skeptic to you’re-flat-out-crazy. She didn’t even bother shrugging. She knew I’d find out the way she did. Researching this bird brought me to new levels of respect for our amazing creator. These birds spend summers in Alaska and winters in Hawaii. The trip over that much water would be shocking enough if they were water birds but they aren’t. They fly nonstop with no chance to sleep or refuel. It’s nothing short of a miracle and I encourage you to check out the logistics involved to make this possible. There’s a great article – I’ll have to find it. So by the time summer in Alaska was beginning, the golden plover was no more. They had become black and white, shifty-eyed (or at least the color pattern made them appear so), quite plump, more active and a bit more lively. And then they were gone. The landscape wasn’t the same for me without the little groups of golden brown birds. In time, they returned. The Alaskan summer waned and the heroic little birds reappeared, looks of shell-shock and jet lag on their faces. It seemed to take a few weeks for them to relax as their golden brown hue gradually returned.

The last poser/imposter analogy is for me. Personally. Do I go to church on Sunday and pose as a believer? Are the people around me posers? The mega-church leaders who pass around five-gallon buckets instead of collection plates, who make promises of riches and gold to those who trust and obey by giving over and above what the Bible specifies. Are they posers or imposters? Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Bible-believing mega-churches. They started off small, right? And they must have grown, right? Are they supposed to say “okay, no more new members, we have enough.” Oops, back on track.

The Bible says teachers (preachers) will be held to a higher standard and I think that’s because so many souls could be led astray if the teacher is an imposter, which the Bible also warns against. Recently a documentary on Jim Jones and Guyana gave me a good example of an imposter. Evil, dastardly deception that led to the destruction of over 900 lives, a third of them children. I don’t think the results have to be that concrete to be considered the work of an imposter. Today’s society is full of people who mislead and we, the sheep of the Bible, follow.

Lastly, and still, when I do things that go against what the Bible teaches, I feel like a poser. I feel the guilt which leads me to the gracious forgiveness of my loving Father. And I think about Paul “I do what I don’t want to do and what I want to do, I don’t do”. Age old issue of the imperfect, fallible humans. Not posing as anything. Just being us.
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