I knew the first time I saw this painting it was a picture of me and my future husband. No question.
I had lost my corporate job due to a recession and was temporarily (so I thought) working at a restaurant when a new hire, Mo, joined me. We worked nights serving customers as cocktail waitresses, and we became fast friends. At that time, I was moving to a new apartment with a girlfriend. Mo claimed she needed a bigger place for her young son and her roommate, another single mom named Shar, and her son. Mo took over my old lease.
It was a perfect match for all. Eventually, Shar joined our staff part time, and it was a fun happy group—until it wasn’t.
Soon after the moves, Shar’s boyfriend moved into Mo’s apartment.
Many nights after our shift, we would meet at a local bar, including with the boyfriend, to grab a late bite and regroup. On the bar’s walls, the owner displayed the paintings of an artist friend. I fell in love with many of them; however, my budget did not lend itself to purchasing art. I always dreamed of owning one of those paintings and told myself, “Someday, I will.”
Mo, however, as a generous gift, bought this particular painting that she felt depicted Shar and her boyfriend. I protested often, saying it was not them. Shar was heavyset with blond curled hair and the boyfriend was short and fat! Although he did have dark hair, it was more like a Beatles cut.
The painting shows a tall, lean, handsome man and a slender redhead with shoulder-length straight hair. Their hands are lovingly entwined. She is holding a rose between her fingers and wears a gold wedding band. They appear serenely happy. I would get so annoyed when I saw the painting hanging on the wall in Shar’s bedroom. It didn’t belong there; it wasn’t them!
I made it known to Mo and many others that the painting was really me and my future husband. I had no idea who he would be or when he would come into my life, but clearly, it was me! I was that redhead.
In time, Shar’s boyfriend made the living situation unbearable for Mo, and one night, a horrific fight took place. Mo called me and told me to come quickly because Shar was going crazy on her.
As I pulled into Mo’s driveway, behind her car my headlights caught the shadow of something under her front wheel. With the moonlight lighting my pathway, I walked over to the car, bent down, reached behind the tire, and to my horror, pulled out the painting! Oh my God, Mo would have backed over it when she was leaving.
I entered the apartment. Shar, her son, and boyfriend were gone—forever I was told. I was holding the painting and exclaiming how it was under her tires and she would have destroyed it when backing out of the driveway. Mo’s immediate response was, “Get that out of my sight!” “Okay,” I said happily, and that was how I acquired the painting that was always meant for me and my future husband.
Since life takes many twists and turns, I eventually relocated with a fabulous job to Connecticut. There I met my first husband, had two children, and got divorced after twenty-one long years. Throughout those years, I always had that painting hanging in every home I lived in. I loved that painting and it often made me wonder, Where did I miss out on this dream? I had a knack for manifesting many opportunities that came to be.
After my divorce, I experienced seven years of single life, plus two short-term relationships, with men neither of whom was tall, lean, or had dark hair. Bored one night, I went online to check out what was new in the singles scene. I actually connected with a lovely man whose values aligned with mine, and we married a year later. Since then, we have been living happily ever after.
Best of all, he is six-foot-four, lean, black hair, and very handsome. I finally got what I had manifested decades before.
This October, we celebrated seventeen wonderful years together. That painting still holds a special place in my heart and in my home.
Moral of my story:
Never give up on your dreams. Sometimes it takes longer than you hope. “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing is impossible.”
Anne Garland
