1993
No Free Goldfish
October 1993


“No Free Goldfish,” New Era, Oct. 1993, 38

No Free Goldfish

The bus trip was just another fish story. But then we learned how to land the biggest prize of all—with no strings attached.

I grew up without a dad, so I always turned to Heavenly Father for support. I would kneel by my bed and just talk to him, sometimes even cry. I always felt that he was there—loving and caring for me—just like a real dad.

I suppose I had been searching for the truth for some time. I had visited many of my friends’ churches, but all of them described my Heavenly Father as a mean and spiteful God. I knew this could not be the same being I had been talking to all my life.

Then, one Saturday afternoon, two young men dressed in suits showed up at our house. Their accents were different from the Chicago sounds I was used to. They were from Gary, Indiana, the home of the largest Sunday School in the Midwest, they said. Every Sunday they brought up a big school bus to drive people to their service. And they promised anyone who rode in the bus would receive a free goldfish.

My younger sister Mary thought that was cool. She would go anywhere for a free goldfish. Mom agreed with a little hesitation. I think she had been searching for the truth too. I thought that giving away free goldfish sounded like a commercial more than a church, but I agreed.

The next morning the huge yellow school bus pulled up in front of our house, and we boarded. But about three blocks down the road, the bus driver drove into the back of a parked car. What a mess!

The police came and found out that the driver didn’t even have a license to drive the bus. They took him down to the station and left us stranded. After a few minutes of sitting in the bus, Mom decided that it wasn’t meant to be, and we walked home. Mary was upset because she didn’t get her goldfish.

About a week later, we heard a knock on the door. Mary answered it and again found two young men in suits standing at the door. They were from some church and had funny sounding accents too. Mary was still sore about the goldfish. “We’re Catholics, and we don’t want any,” she said, in her best imitation of Mom’s voice.

“We’d like to talk to your mom anyway,” they persisted.

Mom went out and sat on the front porch with them for quite a while. She came back with a blue book in her hand. “Did they have goldfish?” Mary asked.

“No, but I think they might have something better,” Mom replied.

A few weeks later, after Mom had finished reading the blue book she called the Book of Mormon, she let them come back and teach us. As I listened to their description of Heavenly Father—a warm, loving Father who cares for us and wants us to return to him—a comforting feeling came over me. I could feel tears flowing down my cheeks. Finally, I knew I could stop searching. I had found the truth, and there were no free goldfish attached.

Illustrated by Taia Morley