Would It Help?

I’ve set aside the stitches for the sleeves and I’m working down the body of the sweater.

I’ve all but stopped watching movies. I’ll bet I could count on one hand how many I’ve been able to sit through since Mr. Virgo died. For a lot of reasons. Mainly, because my attention span is that of a preschooler. But also because I can’t stand blood and gore anymore. Or sirens. Or emergency room scenes. PTSD is a beast that kinda lurks in the background…waiting to pounce when you least expect it. I don’t necessarily miss movies because I have a zillion other things I’d rather do.

On Sunday afternoon, Mr. FixIt and I were sitting in the living room waiting for the kids to arrive. I was knitting and he was scrolling through channels looking for something interesting. We watched an episode of Monk. I can tolerate that because there’s not a lot of real gore or ER scenes. And Monk is so endearing with his own case of PTSD surrounding the loss of his wife. I can relate to him.

At the end of the episode, a movie started. I watched the opening credits and when I saw Tom Hanks was starring in it, I decided to give it a shot. I really enjoy his acting. The movie was Bridge of Spies. It takes place during the Cold War. A spy is caught, a pilot is downed, and an exchange is attempted. There’s lots of intrigue and it’s based on a real event. The Russian spy is an unassuming, bespectacled man who paints portraits and carries secrets. Tom Hanks plays the attorney who is assigned to defend the spy…not a popular position in the McCarthy Era.

There is a courtroom scene where Hanks’ character is sharing some disappointing news to the spy who is cool as a cucumber. Hanks turns to him and says, “Don’t you ever worry?” The spy calmly looks at him and says, “Would it help?”

I sat there for a moment, thinking about this simple three word question we could all use every single time something worrisome comes up. I come from a long line of professional worriers. Just yesterday, I was talking with my brother on the phone. We’d been playing phone tag for a couple days. As we were saying our goodbyes, he said, “I’m glad you’re still alive.” I said, “Sweetheart, when you call me and I don’t answer, it means that I’m busy, not that I’m dead, ok?” He said, “Ok, I’ll try not to worry.”

I hate worrying, but that sure doesn’t stop me from doing it. I can remember in my 20’s and 30’s, trying to call my mom…who was ALWAYS home. I was actually known to call the ER to see if she was there when I couldn’t reach her in a timely fashion. I worried about my kids…probably WAY too much, but that’s what happens when you’ve been the victim of childhood sexual abuse. You worry about EVERY possible thing that can go wrong and you try to plan out every possible scenario before it happens so you don’t get caught flat footed.

It’s exhausting.

What a simple question to ask yourself when you start down that rabbit hole.

“Would it help?”

Does worrying help anything…I mean, really help? It just compounds an already stressful situation. I’ve done a lot better as I get older. I have a lot more tools in my toolbox. One of the most common questions I ask myself is this…

“Is there anything I can do about it at this very moment?”

If the answer is yes…then I try to do that thing. If the answer is no, I just hand it over to God and ask Him to do the heavy lifting for me. If not, I can easily slip into anticipatory anxiety and I hate that.

God wants to help us…on all days…in all ways. Nothing is too big or too small for God. We aren’t bothering Him when we ask Him for help. As a matter of fact, I think it pleases Him greatly when we turn to Him. Just remember how you feel when your adult child asks you for your opinion or direction. Doesn’t that feel good? Well, it feels good to God, too.

Next time you’re handling something cool as a cucumber and someone says, “Don’t you ever worry?” Just ask them…

“Would it help?”