What We Leave, and What We Become The prairie was quiet the morning Robert Harrington walked the length of his fields for the first time since completing his family’s legacy plan. The sky stretched wide and clear above him, the way it had on the day he first learned to drive a tractor. The earth beneath his boots felt familiar, steady—an old friend that had carried generations before him and would carry generations long after he was gone. He paused at the top of the ridge behind the barn, the same hill where his own father once sat beside him and spoke words that shaped his life. Now, decades later, Robert finally understood the full weight of that moment: A legacy is not what we leave behind—it is what we set in motion. Below him stood the structures he had built with his hands and the structures he had built with his heart: his home, his family, his business, his purpose. But in the quiet of that morning, he realized something profound. The legacy of the Harrington family was not the farm. It was not the machinery business. It was not even the trusts or governance frameworks designed to endure through time. The true legacy was the people — Emma, who loved with a steady grace; David, who had grown into leadership with humility; Claire, who carried compassion like a lantern; Andrew, who found redemption and strength through honest reckoning; and the generations yet to come, who would inherit not just assets, but identity. Robert closed his eyes and offered a simple prayer of gratitude. Not for wealth. Not for protection. But for the chance to bless his family—and to be blessed by them in return. Behind every trust, behind every plan, behind every chapter of this book, there is a deeper truth: A legacy endures not because it is preserved, but because it is lived. Every family who begins this journey will face its own questions, its own tensions, its own years of harvest and drought. But every family also carries within it the capacity to rise, to grow, to heal, to serve, and to bless. This book has followed one symbolic family— a mirror, a metaphor, a teaching companion. But now it turns toward you, the reader. Your family has its own story. Your children have their own gifts. Your future generations will walk paths you cannot yet see. The planning frameworks you build today—trusts, entities, governance, mission statements—are scaffolding. They hold shape. They preserve structure. They protect what must endure. But documents alone cannot create a legacy. That work belongs to the daily choices of ordinary people living extraordinary lives of faith, work, love, and stewardship. Someday, someone in your family—perhaps a grandchild you will never meet—will look back and see that your life created a turning point. A moment when the family’s story began to shift from survival to purpose, from accumulation to stewardship, from scarcity to blessing. And when they see it, they may stand— as Robert Harrington stood on that quiet ridge— and breathe gratitude for the life that set everything in motion. May your legacy, like his, be not merely what you leave, but what you become . Blessings on your legacy.