James Logan

From the moment I laid eyes on my grandson, wrapped in a blanket as soft as clouds, I knew our family had been forever changed. Watching my daughter become a mom filled me with a kind of pride I can't quite put into words. And then there you were—this tiny new life, wrinkly toes wiggling, fingers curling around mine with perfect trust, like you already knew you had us all wrapped around your itty-bitty finger. After years of waiting, hoping, and dreaming, you arrived with a sigh that somehow filled the room and my heart all at once. 

These past few months, I’ve had a front-row seat to the beauty and chaos of new life, and the deep joy of watching my daughter love you.  I measure time now in baby coos, milestone giggles, and the way you squint those sleepy blue eyes like you’re sizing up the world. I may no longer be the one rocking babies through the night, but I treasure every moment I get to hold you, breathe in your sweet baby scent, and whisper how much you are loved. You’re not just the next generation, but a living reminder that love multiplies, joy expands, and that life, in all its beautiful unpredictability, continues to bloom.

Someday, when your own arms cradle a newborn and you reach for the faded quilt tucked away in the linen chest—worn soft by time and love—you’ll discover that it’s not just fabric and thread you’re holding. It’s your story -a time stamp of your birth and the joyous chaos that followed. The humble patchwork may be dotted with tiny fingerprints and stitched dreams, but the story it tells is the most important gift of all.