We went to church in Prince George at the Evangelical Free Church, pastored by Cliff Deitrich, a short little bald fellow who preached with a good bit of gospel fire and fervor. My father had learned a good bit of what it meant to walk with the Lord from this man, and I owe him a great deal because of it. I don’t remember much at all about that church, except that I threw up in Sunday School one day, having eaten too much Puffed Wheat for breakfast.
I also remember getting to church on one particular Sunday. Our Ford van was broken down, and the only vehicle we had that ran was Dad’s new purple 1971 Ford pickup, which of course we all wanted to ride in. Grandma was with us that day, and we somehow got all nine of us into the cab of that truck and went to church. I remember sitting on the left side of dad as he drove.