"Is this your first?" Oh, you. When you woke up this morning, you had no idea that you would meet me. You, a perfectly decent stranger, saw a pregnant lady waddling around and thought, "I bet she hasn't talked about her baby for a few minutes. Let me ask a completely innocent question to break that ice for her."

But you didn't know. How could you? Not many women share their infertility journey. It's not plastered on the news or media, so you're not confronted with the reality of the sea of women out there who have lost a child. More than likely, all your pregnancies (or your wife's) were met with little to no struggle. And if it did happen to someone you knew, you didn't talk about it. It was kept under wraps because, let's be honest, what do you say to a woman who's lost a child?

"It's going to be ok?"

"It happened for a reason?"

"Better luck next time?"

No. You probably just didn't talk about it, and vice versa, and talked about the weather or something.

But then you met me. I don't know how to make small talk. The weather doesn't fascinate me like it does most people. So when you asked, I answered:

"Well, he's our first to have made it this far. We have 3 that didn't make it past 8 weeks."

Bless your beautiful soul, what do you say to THAT?! I know I've put you in an awkward position. There's no way to navigate these waters safely now.

"Congratulations?"

"How exciting?"

"Fourth times a charm?"

You look at me with wide eyes and I know your brain is trying to come up with an answer that won't cause any pain or any more awkwardness. Don't worry. You're not my first person to have asked me this. You're not prepared, but I am. So I look at you and say,

"The Lord has really worked on our lives through this journey and we can't wait to see how he leads us in raising our child."

You smile and look relieved.

"You and your husband will be great parents."

And you walk away and act interested in some endcap of no real value. I should further the awkwardness and tell you my husband died or I'm a lesbian (kidding!), but you've been through enough in this exchange and I'm truly not that mean. But for my part, I want to thank you.

Thank you for letting me remember my children. Each time I talk about them, the pain becomes more bearable. The tears no longer come. The feelings of loss are now replaced with feelings of hope and joy for the future.

Thank you for reminding me of God's faithfulness. Thank you for reminding me that there is always an after. My after came first in the form of fostering, then in the form of Lincoln. "'Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,' says the Lord."

And thank you for letting me tell you my story. Sure, you didn't get the whole picture, but you got to see the piece of the puzzle that the Lord is currently working on. And with each person who asks, I know more questions will follow. Maybe, eventually, I'll be able to share the gospel with someone through this story. Maybe, they too are going through a season of pain and despair and need someone to bring them to the One who comforts and restores. With each person who asks, I know the Lord is preparing me to share more of our journey with those who need to hear it.

So never be afraid to ask, perfectly decent stranger. You never know how you are helping that person grow and become the person the Lord has created them to be.