A Call to Understand

I began taking online classes from CCEF (Christian Counseling & Educational Foundation) in 2024. My motivation was quite simple. I vividly remember a conversation with a sister who suffered greatly from depression. At the end of our call, she said to me, “Ying, I don’t think you understand my suffering.”

Her words might have come out in a moment of desperation, yet they stunned me—because they were true. I really didn’t understand. And the “nerdy” part of me thought, what better way to understand people’s emotions during suffering than to take a biblical counseling class? That was the beginning of my journey, though at the time, I had no idea what God had prepared for me through it.

Learning to See My Own Heart

The first class I took was ‘Helping Relationships’, and I enjoyed it greatly. So, I enrolled in another course, Dynamics of Biblical Change.

One of the assignments was a self-counseling project on “Suffering and Refuge.” We were asked to reflect on a past or ongoing suffering in our lives—how we naturally responded to it, and how meditating on God’s Word could reorient our pain toward hope and love.

At first, I struggled with what to write. I didn’t think much about suffering in my life — or perhaps, I didn’t want to think about it. I was generally thankful for what God had given me. Yet, the more I pondered, the more I realized I was actually in the middle of a struggle I had been actively refusing to acknowledge.

Just weeks earlier, I had found out I was six weeks pregnant. I felt blessed as we had been praying for another child. However, the joy was mixed with fear. A year before, I had experienced an ectopic pregnancy. On the same day I knew about my pregnancy, my OB sent me to the ER for emergency surgery. I remember driving myself to INOVA Fairfax Hospital and signing in at the waiting area, hardly having time to think through what was happening.

The loss remained unprocessed — until a year later. So when I found out I was pregnant again, fear overshadowed joy. I was terrified of reliving the same experience. Statistics showed that women who had had one ectopic pregnancy were more likely to have another one. The odds weren’t good. I found myself constantly searching for signs of reassurance that everything was okay. But I also tried not to hope too much, fearing that joy would only deepen the wound if things went wrong. I was torn between hope and fear.

Learning to See God

Through reflection, I realized much of my anxiety came from my expectations of life — one of them being to have more children. When that dream was threatened, I felt undone.

I also struggled to trust in God’s providence. I saw myself as a statistic, governed by biological odds, rather than a cherished daughter of God. My logical mind whispered, “The outcome is already determined; prayer won’t change anything.” This cynicism led me to distance myself from God, closing off my heart.

But the assignment gently guided me back to meditating on God’s character. I was reminded that God’s providence is gentle and kind. He is not a distant lawgiver, but a merciful Father. I realized I didn’t need to prove myself through my dream life. I could lay my fears before Him, for He alone is my true refuge.

So, I began to pray, not for a particular outcome, but asking God to lift my worries and burdens, to help me rest in His love and the salvation of Jesus Christ. 

Finding Peace in the True Valley

As I submitted my assignment, I heard the heartbeat of my baby in the uterus during an ultrasound. In that moment, my heart was flooded with joy and relief. But the joy did not last long. Three weeks later, I went in for another ultrasound. My OB looked at me gently and said she was afraid the baby hadn’t grown in two weeks. She wanted to confirm with another scan the next day.

The homework had unknowingly prepared me for that moment. I didn’t feel the same shame or fear as before — because I knew God loved me. I didn’t hide my emotions either. The tear just streamed down, as freely as they could, like a little girl weeping in front of her father.

The next day, as I drove to the ultrasound center, I prayed for a small hope of misdiagnosis. But when the doctor confirmed there was no longer a heartbeat, I accepted it with extraordinary peace.

Finding Treasure Among Darkness

When life returned to normal and my body recovered, I often pondered: What is the point of suffering? If I could cut that part of my life out, would I still be the same person? Through it all, I saw that God had used the experience to both test and comfort me. He wanted all of me—my fears, my hopes, my pain. He led me step by step toward Him, encouraging me not to hide. 

And also, pain, no matter how small it seems to others, is real and heavy. It can drag our hearts into a valley of darkness. Even now, as I write this, revisiting the loss stirs unease. Yet, in that valley, there is also treasure. 

It was in the weight of my suffering that I began to grasp the magnitude of Jesus’ words in Gethsemane: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me” (Luke 22:42). The weight He carried was infinitely greater and His love for us is infinitely deeper. My suffering, though painful, drew me closer to understanding Christ’s sacrifice and love.