At time throughout my life, I have relied on my spiritual friends–Mike (my writing mentor), Ann (my guardian angel) and others–to show me who I can be if I only dust off the dirt on my the mirror. When I plummeted to the depth of my depression–and could not find even one asset to my personality–I relied on them to show me what my gifts were.
They were like the Peacemaker in the beautiful Iroquois Indian tale I read in Robert Wick’s book, “Crossing the Desert” (Wicks said he came across the story when told by David Augusburger of Fuller Theological Seminary at the 1991 Religious Education Congress in Los Angeles):

There was a strange and unusual figure that the Iroquois Indians called “the Peacemaker.” The Peacemaker came to a village where the chief was known as “The Man-Who-Kills-and-Eats-People.” Now the Man-Who-Kills-and-Eats-People, the chief, was in his wigwam. He had cut up his enemies and was cooking them in a massive pot in the center of the wigwam so that he might eat their flesh and absorb their mythical powers.
The Peacemaker climbed to the top of the wigwam and looked down through the smokehole, say the Iroquois, and as he peered down through the smokehole his face was reflected in the grease on the top of the pot. And the Man-Who-Kills-and-Eats-People looked into the pot, saw the reflection, and thought it to be his own face.

And he said: “Look at that. That’s not the face of a man who kills his enemies and eats them. Look at the nobility. Look at the peace in that face. If that is my face, what am I doing carrying on this kind of a life?”
And he seized the pot, dragged it from the fire, brought it outside and poured it out on the ground. He then called the people and said: “I shall never again destroy or consume an enemy, for I have discovered my true face. I have found out who I am.”
And then, says the story, the Peacemaker came down from the top of the wigwam and embraced him and called him “Hiawatha” (the name of one of the greatest Iroquois leaders).