My better half, Dave, is the fourth generation to farm the land where I have lived with him for 14 years. He grew up tending to dairy cows and hogs, and growing corn and soybeans with his family.

But Dave is retiring. He’d planned to pass the farming on to a younger farmer he’d mentored for 20 years, but everything changed when his apprentice decided to leave farming altogether. Dave couldn’t find a replacement farm manager and, at age 61, he was facing some health problems, so we decided to auction off the equipment and rent out the land. We scheduled the auction for early December, hoping bidders would brave the bitter winter winds.

On auction day, I woke up at 5 a.m., took a moment for prayer and began to cry. Since the age of 18, Dave had been caring for this land. He took everything to heart and put his heart into everything. He wept when droughts and floods wiped out the crops, and he stood tall and proud in the lush years. Yet time marched on and, at 10 a.m. sharp, the auctioneer began introductions to the more than 300 farmers in attendance as well as to the many bidders following along online.

The small items sold within an hour, and the auctioneer instructed the crowd to move to the line of machinery. Some farmers lingered by the tractors and trucks, lifting hoods and analyzing every visible part. The rest of the crowd followed the auctioneer in his pickup along the line of equipment. “The dirt scraper is sold online to a Kansas buyer,” the auctioneer yelled. “The grain cart goes to Sully, Iowa.” On and on it went, until all the items had sold to farmers in the Midwest.

By 1 p.m. the auction was over. Farmers loaded their new equipment onto trailers and left for home. With new tears in my eyes, I watched the mass exodus. A mere two hours later, nearly everything was gone.

The next chapter of our book of life is about to start, I thought to myself. Our journey is not over, and the best is yet to come.