I awoke about 4am this morning (Friday 12th March 2021) and as I lay in bed, feeling a little bit chilly, I just drifted in my thoughts.
Then, I sensed some movement. And I sat up. I believe Georg was in the room….
In the course of Alan’s hospitalisation, there was much spiritual warfare, as those of faith can well imagine. During that time, I believe the LORD introduced more to me about angels than I had ever contemplated before. But that is another topic, for another time. Suffice to say, I believe Georg was the name of Alan’s designated angel. Alan and I had not ever really discussed angels. In our many years discussing the Word of God that wasn’t a topic particularly on the list. But I believe some time during January/February, I became aware of an angel named Georg who was Alan’s angel.
Georg was, I believe, in the room early this morning.
“Georg” I called out softly. He stopped, poised somewhere between our wardrobes opposite the end of our bed, and the door from the room.
He didn’t speak. But I knew he was listening.
I considered for a while. I was wondering what he was doing there, but sensed he had something with him, something of Alan’s that he was taking with him, and that this was the last time he would be in here, in the house, and that I’d never experience his presence again. He was leaving because there was no reason any longer for him to be present.
He — or GOD — had allowed me to wake up, so that I’d know he was there.
“If you are allowed to speak to Alan, would you tell him from me… I loved him. I admired him so much. I only fully realised what an amazing man he was after he’d gone to the hospital. I’m sorry. I should have spoiled him more.”
You see, Alan and I had a really solid marriage. We were quite different in our personalities and cultures. In fact, it was only in the last six months I’d begun to identify the part of him who was a Burmese man: passive, solid but not particularly assertive, and certainly not aggressive in any way. Alan was one hundred percent confident, but had no need or propensity to put himself forward. That’s the part of him I identify as “Burmese”. I shared that with him some time before Christmas. I’m glad.
This aspect of him I never really understood until 2020. I don’t know how I began to recognise it, but I do know why: because I’d always found his “leading from the back foot” frustrating and didn’t understand why he didn’t assert himself more. Oh, I’m sure he did in his own way in his world of work. Certainly he was a successful manager of people in the City of London. In discovering the link between his birth culture and his personality, I relaxed about our lives together much more.
But in his absence when he’d gone to hospital, I learned so much more about our marriage: his identity and mine, and ours together. And so now, I regret I didn’t spoil him. By that I mean, I didn’t acquiesce easily (being of North American culture where one has to stand for oneself), didn’t often relent when I disagreed until I “understood” where Alan was coming from, until recently. I admired his gift as a Bible teacher and we talked a great deal about the Word together. And our principles and desire to grow in the character of GOD was perfectly alined. But in the little hobbies he had, I never listened endlessly about hi fi or watches, about the workshop and DIY, and I teased him about his enjoyment of “rubbish” tv: mindless programmes which he occasionally enjoyed about people buying abandoned storage locker contents for resale or individuals trying to get a good price from a pawn shop on their attic junk (thankfully, I did sit and enjoy them with him from time to time).
I tried to cook the sort of food he liked and adored his approach to GOD’s Word. I admired his integrity and selfless determination to live a godly life. But I didn’t listen to him enough about the little things and I talked as much as I listened, or more. I didn’t encourage his somewhat eccentric preference for music. And I didn’t help him very well when he wanted help around the house; he just wanted me to sit while he did a task and pass tools to him. I was rubbish at that, usually wandering off to do something while I was awaiting the next request, then missing the next instruction, if I remembered to return to him at all. I wish now, that I had done so much better at “helping” him.
I wish I’d spoiled him so much more. I would have, I believe, had he returned home from hospital, because I’d come to understand the man much better. I’m grateful I had the opportunity more than once during the hospital ordeal to wrap it all up by saying, “Alan I respect you,” and “I have learned patience”.
So, if I have a pearl of wisdom to share about the passing of my dear husband Alan Tun, in its summation it would be: wives, spoil your husbands more than you do (unless you already do a great, great deal). Because they need it. It’s part of their make-up as men, whether they demonstrate it or not.
“Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto the Ancient of Days.” And LORD, please let Alan know, if there is a way for him to know, that I wish I’d honoured him better by spoiling him more, and yes, now, I think I love him almost perfectly.