It was a special time in our lives. I was newly graduated from seminary and just ordained. Lisa was ten months old and Lars was born here. Joanne was ready to take a break from work. Mohall was a vibrant little city on the the North Dakota side of the border with Canada about where Manitoba and Saskatchewan meet. Mohall was the country seat, had a consolidated school, a small hospital with two doctors and a bustling business district. We arrived in the summer of 1968 and left in the fall of 1975.
Visiting Mohall (named after an early resident, M.O. Hall) thirty four years after our departure is a melancholy experience. The people in whom I invested have moved on with their lives. Youth who were active in my youth group have retired, died, raised families...and there is a piece of me that believes they should be as I left them.
The Mohall hospital is closed and main street is largely vacant. The town looks a bit run down and I'm left feeling melancholy as I reflect upon the years, the people and the changes. Aging is such a weird experience, internally I don't feel any older, yet, I'm confronted with the reality of all the time that has passed in my adult life.
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