I’m sitting in the maternity ward at the hospital. It’s cold enough in here to keep milk from spoiling. Bacteria does not thrive below 41°F, which means that the food trays, though tasteless, are safe.

Today holds the promise of a new life.

In a world that seems hopelessly lost, this is a place where hope is born. The first breath of many. The first cry. The first sounds and sights. The first hug. The first smells. The first smiles. The first dreams of a life which, by grace, will last for the next 80 years or so.

Beneath the little sock cap and the tightly folded blankets there lies a heart of courage that is pure and unstained. Beneath a headful of blond hair there is a mind that is unblemished and full of the kind of optimism that most of us have forgotten.

He has no reason to give up. He does not yet know that life is full of challenges. He boldly says, “Here I am. Change my diaper.”

Please!

When my children were born, I was scared to death to be a father. I had no idea what I was doing. I was eager to start this journey and clueless as to what it would require of me. I held in my arms the future of my family. I muddled my way through most of the time. I got a few things right. I got a lot of things wrong.

Now, all these years later, I have a different perspective. I have seen that my mistakes were not as crucial as I first thought. I have learned that life’s blessings are not always my doing. I have experienced regrets I cannot change. I have reaped a remarkable level of joy for which I cannot take the credit.

Life is bigger than any of us. The days ahead of this sleeping child are determined by a Force that is beyond my comprehension. Our parental efforts only serve as a compliment to a greater plan.

This little guy started his new life in the NICU. Though he began by the same old miraculous wonder we call conception, he came into this world by the mercy of medical intervention. His mother has been watching her sugar intake carefully the last several months. Her blood pressure has been managed closely.

For both their sakes, the decision was made to take him early.

On his first day, while his small lungs learned the task of inhaling and exhaling, he was put through a battery of tests. Gifted nurses, one of whom is his aunt, counted the numbers and checked his stats over and over again. Mama waited patiently.

For a while, there was no commitment as to how soon she could hold her newborn son.

“This is normal for situations like this,” they said.

“He’s doing great. His breathing is improving,” they told us.

The conversation in the room was cheerful. The mood was upbeat. But if you looked closely, you could see signs of moisture in the corners of a few eyelids. When you can’t hold your own child, you can’t help but worry.

This is a curious honor for me. To be here. To share this moment. To a large degree I am an outsider. I have no flesh and blood invested in the birth of this little one. My heart is invested. I care deeply about what is going on here. I know my presence is appreciated. But still, I’m the new guy.

Being a part of a new birth, even on the sideline, is yet another of the many dynamics at work in this season of my life. I have four grandchildren of my own. Marion, as of today, has four. We have joked about how, together, we have eight.

I don’t know of any other way to think about it. If someone were to ask me, “How many grandkids you got?” My answer would be simple. Between the two of us, we have eight. I’m not “their” grandpa. She is not “their” grandma. But when you enter into a new life with someone, their family comes along as part of the deal.

That’s the only way I know to look at it.

So, yeah, I held him for a few minutes. Skin soft like velvet. His eyes closed. His little mouth moving in tight circles like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.

If I could give him anything, I would give him the ability to see his life sixty years from now. There’s a chance it could scare him silly, I guess. But I reckon there’s a greater chance he would see that in spite of whatever troubles may come his way, most of those will be forgotten. I’d want him to see that his failures will not define him. His tragedies will not defeat him.

I’d want him to know that love is the key to a life well lived. Love for God and love for fellow mankind. Because the way I read it, that just about sums up everything he needs to know.

It doesn’t matter if he sucks at baseball. He probably won’t, but if he does life goes on. If he makes a D in 9th grade Literature, his life won’t be over. If he changes jobs a few times, there’s still a reason to keep trying. And if he gets his heart broken into a thousand pieces, life is full of second chances.

Same goes for the other side of the coin. If he makes captain of the football team, that probably won’t be his greatest achievement in life. If he scores highest in his class on his SATs, he’ll still have to earn his way. If he rises to the top of the corporate ladder and makes millions, he’s still just a guy like every other guy on the planet.

I’d want all of my grandchildren to know that even though life may not be fair, where they end up is entirely up to them. Learn from your mistakes. If you get knocked down, you get back up. Move on to the next thing. Never stop believing in yourself. Take responsibility for the bad choices. Take responsibility for making better choices.

I am well aware that it is not my right to be here today. To hold this child. To imagine what his life might be like. There’s no way on this earth to replace his real grandpa. I could never earn that spot. But I will try to stand in when I’m needed. As far as it is possible, I promise to do right by him.

At times I am overwhelmed when I think of how my life has turned out. Death, whether you’re ready for it or not, teaches you about the brevity of all you hold dear. Then the sun comes up again and you reach for the hope that you’ve held on to your entire life. Joy returns. Love grows.

If my kids and my grandkids could see that. If this little guy could just get a glimpse of that, he’ll make it just fine.

Welcome to the world Cooper Taylor Koehl.

Somebody, please, change the boy’s diaper.