This painting is by Thomas Blackshear, titled Watchers In The Night. I saw this painting about five or ten years ago and fell in love with it from the moment I saw it. I didn’t buy it. In the short time that I stood in front of the corner where this painting was displayed I was somehow able to memorize every detail of this painting. When I had saved enough money to purchase the painting it was no longer available at the little gallery where I had found it. The sales lady was able to help me find the artist’s name and from there I began my hunt for this painting.
There are plenty of cheesy replicas of this picture out there. But that is not what I wanted. I wanted this painting in its rare form-canvas, no elaborate frame, no gold, glitter, crosses, or the any of that religious relic stuff that can become a distraction. Art is art. It should speak for itself. In my humble opinion, art does not need the bells and whistles of a frame or any type of embellishment for that matter. If it is good, then it will stand on its own.
Tonight I found the painting and purchased this for my Valentine’s gift to me. There is something that speaks truth in this painting. I did a little research on the symbolism within the painting. The light in the angel’s hand symbolizes the holy spirit. The artist is quoted as saying “I hope you are reminded each time you look at this painting, that no matter what you are going through as God’s child, there are angels under the Lord’s command who are close by and ready to assist you.”
I love the child peacefully asleep in the bed, the strength of the angel’s wing around the bed and the stoic stance of the angel. Maybe this is what I would like the angels to look like. Ready for battle- strong and sure of their mission.
About ten years ago my husband’s best friend was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident. “John” was a sweet man with a kind heart. My husband had been best friends with him for thirty years. He was at the birth of our children, in our wedding and more importantly we shared countless hours of laughter, tears and youth with him. When we got the news of his passing it was a blow to say the least.
The night after his death I was at home by myself. I was standing over the sink doing dishes and in deep thought, very deep thought about John, and trying to picture our lives without him. I was trying to grasp the gravity of the hole that would be left in my husband’s heart as a result of John’s passing. And then I felt a presence. It was a strong sensation. I turned slowly around and heard something to my left. Just then my son’s remote control Hummer started up and traveled across the dining room, across the kitchen, past my feet and into the kitchen wall. The Hummer had traveled about twenty to thirty feet. No kidding. Seriously. The remote was nowhere to be found and nobody was home other than myself.
I wasn’t scared. I was rattled, but not scared. I decided to say something out loud and said something like, “Hi John. Ha, ha very funny.” I wanted to acknowledge out loud that I knew he was there with me. I think he was saying goodbye. But I am sure it was him.
I have had one other encounter with him through a dream several years ago. John was happy.
The night I had a dream about John, my husband had dreamt about him too. I hadn’t told my husband that I had dreamt of John for fear of the sadness that it may have brought with it. As soon as my husband woke up he declared to me that he had just dreamt about John and described the almost identical dream that I had that night.
That’s when I knew.