Time’s Arrow
John and Florence Kronlokken, 1946 My father was born in February 1919, in the midst of the world-wide Spanish flu epidemic. When she was afraid he would die, and couldn’t bear to watch, my grandmother turned his little face to the wall. But my grandfather picked him up and held him against his own body all night, infusing the baby with his warmth. My father lived, though a somewhat sickly child. Growing up, Dad felt himself called to the Lutheran ministry. This required education, a lot of education! He worked on farms during the summer and helped his father on carpentry jobs. He also refused to smoke, knowing this saved money. He met my mother in college and, when he finished his seminary training, they were married. He was ordained as a pastor at the same time, in February 1945, only a month before his brother was killed in France at the very end of World War II. In his parishes, Dad was known for his warmth and energy. In a small North Dakota town along the Red River, when ...
