I’m Christin Webb, part of the Good Grief group started by CSPC’s Sarah Stewart. It’s for mothers who’ve lost children or have terminally ill children. Last week, I shared how God walked us through the passing of our 10-month-old daughter Mabry from a rare genetic condition called Krabbe disease. At the same time, He was using insights gleaned from Mabry’s tragedy to save the life of her younger brother. Our son Owen was born with the same condition but is thriving today, 10 years later. Here’s the rest of the story of how our family is living deeply with God. 

“I always had a longing for another child- much earlier than Kyle did. But on Valentine’s Day 2019, he gave me a card saying he was ready to explore our options. We could’ve done IVF with genetic testing. But the thought of potentially discarding embryos with Krabbe disease- that was something we couldn’t do. They are worthy of life in our eyes. So we started exploring traditional adoption. And as we did, we stumbled upon something we’d never heard of: embryo adoption, which lets you carry your adopted child using remaining embryos from another family’s completed IVF. I thought it sounded kind of weird at first, but Kyle lit up: ‘You’ve wanted to be pregnant again. This lets you do that.’ Still, it took years of praying before I finally called the National Embryo Donation Center (NEDC), which is right here in Knoxville. We didn’t have a history of infertility, so we naively thought, ‘This will work.’ But the first embryo transfer didn’t. I was crushed. Those embryos were lives- I carried guilt that I hadn’t sustained them. The second transfer worked, and we were elated. But then, at our first OB appointment, I knew as soon as I saw the ultrasound screen: Our baby was gone. Of all the things we’d walked through, this made me most angry. I wasn’t questioning God’s existence, I was just very angry. I couldn’t listen to worship music. Couldn’t open my Bible. I needed space. Then one morning, I woke up with a song in my head I didn’t even know I knew: ‘Weary traveler, restless soul, you were never meant to walk this road alone… you won’t be weary long.’ That was God, gently breaking back in.

After that devastating miscarriage, we’d had another failed embryo transfer. More heartbreak. Everything about this part of our journey had been harder than I’d imagined. The shots involved in the process, the waiting for results, our family (including Owen) in the ultrasound room excited to get a first glimpse of new life but only seeing lifelessness-  the emotional toll of it all had worn me down. I thought we might be done. But then our NEDC nurse approached us about considering changing to an ‘open’ adoption (meaning we’d have some sort of limited contact with the donating family; our first transfers had been ‘closed,’ meaning there wouldn’t be any contact). She said, ‘I think I know a family whose embryos would be a great match for you.’ It just felt like another God-nudge. We prayed and decided we’d give it one last try. If it didn’t take this time, I knew emotionally I just couldn’t do it anymore. We waited just about a year between the third and fourth transfers. Everything about that fourth transfer felt sacred. The NEDC scheduled it on our anniversary. We made a worship playlist for the transfer room, and I cried through the whole thing, just overcome. Then came a trip to New York for a family symposium with others who’ve walked the same road we did with Mabry. I told our friends there about the transfer. When the pregnancy test came back as a ‘maybe,’ they prayed over me like it was already a ‘yes.’ And guess what? It was! Eventually, I gave birth to Sonnie. She’s not a replacement for Mabry- no one ever could be. But she is a gift we didn’t know we’d get. And through every ache and unknown, I felt God. When I was pregnant with Owen, I was too heartbroken over Mabry’s health to fully take it in. But with Sonnie, I soaked up every part of it: every ache, every back spasm, every needle. I wanted to feel it all. I GOT to feel it all. And when they placed her in my arms… I would just live that day a million times over. So much gratitude and thankfulness. Everything was so surreal.

When Sonnie was born, the hospital ran a newborn screening. It’s routine now- but it wasn’t always. That test is only done in Tennessee because of Mabry. After she died, we & two other families lobbied hard for what became the Mabry Kate Webb Act. It was passed in 2015, implemented in 2017, and now every baby born in Tennessee is screened for the disease that took our daughter’s life. If this law had existed back then, Mabry might still be here. That’s a hard truth- but it’s also the truth that made us fight. We flew back and forth from Duke (where our then-newborn, Owen, was fighting for his life) to Nashville just to be in front of the people who could change things. And they did. So when Sonnie got that test, it was such a full-circle moment. I’ve always had faith, but God just helped build it more and more through all these situations. And that’s why I love to tell the story. It’s a hard story- it’s very broken. There’s so much loss and so much ugly- but also beauty intertwined with it. Yes, if I could rewrite my story, obviously I would, because I would love to have Mabry here. But it also makes me wonder- would Sonnie be here? Because we would have had no reason to look into embryo adoption. So I feel like maybe God used Mabry to save not just Owen’s life, but also to save Sonnie’s life in a much different way- and also to save other babies’ lives through newborn screening. You know how you hear God is close to the brokenhearted? It is so true. There have been so many moments through all this when He’s reassured me: ‘I’m a compassionate, loving God, and I’m going to carry you through this situation because it’s part of the story that I’ve given you.’ I’ve been able to experience so many ‘God moments’- times of crisis where He speaks louder than others to comfort & reassure. I know I don’t deserve that reassurance. It’s just a beautiful journey to walk, and I feel very blessed. I’ve been able to experience Him in a very intimate way that not a lot of people have. Sometimes I just cried in His presence. That was enough. Where would I be safer than clinging to the One who can make prayers out of my tears?”