On a crisp autumn morning in Chicago, 1997, nine-year-old Sarah Mitchell clutched her mother’s hand as they entered the United Center. The air was alive with excitement—fans in Bulls jerseys, the scent of popcorn, the echo of sneakers on polished floors. But for Sarah, this was not just a chance to see her basketball heroes. In her backpack, she carried a worn Bible, a gift from her late father, and a question that had been burning in her heart since the day cancer took him away.
Sarah’s father had always told her, “Keep believing, princess. Sometimes God sends His angels in unexpected packages.” Since his passing, Sarah had spent countless nights reading his Bible, searching for answers to why God would take someone so good, so soon. Her mother, Ellen, had hesitated to bring her to the Bulls’ meet-and-greet—the event was meant for autographs and photos, not deep conversations. But she couldn’t say no to the hope she saw in Sarah’s eyes.
Inside, the line to meet the players stretched long, but Sarah stood patiently, her hand never leaving her backpack. Around her, fans rehearsed what they’d say to Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player in the world. But Sarah wasn’t interested in stats or signatures. She wanted to ask about something far more important: faith.
As they inched forward, Sarah remembered her father’s voice, cheering for Jordan from his hospital bed, telling her, “That’s what believing in yourself looks like. That’s what faith can do.” When it was finally their turn, Sarah saw Michael Jordan up close—taller and more approachable than she expected, his smile lighting up the room.
“Hi there, little lady,” Jordan greeted, kneeling to meet her gaze. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Sarah. Sarah Mitchell,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Jordan’s smile softened as he noticed the shadow in her eyes. He’d seen that look before in the children’s hospitals he visited—kids carrying burdens far heavier than their small frames should bear. Sensing this wasn’t a typical fan encounter, he signaled for the event coordinator to wait.
Sarah took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the Bible in her backpack. “Mr. Jordan, I need to ask you something important.”
Jordan nodded, giving her his full attention as the noise of the crowd faded away.
“My daddy… he went to heaven six months ago. He loved watching you play. He said you showed him what it means to have faith, to believe in something bigger than yourself. The night before he died, he told me God sends His angels in unexpected packages. But I need to know… do you believe in God? Do you think He really has a plan, even when things hurt so much?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than any championship ring. For a moment, even the United Center seemed to hold its breath.
Jordan’s expression grew thoughtful. He reached out, gently taking Sarah’s hand. “You know, Sarah, your daddy sounds like a very wise man. And you’re very brave for asking me this. I do believe in God. With all my heart. Let me tell you why.”
He gestured to the court behind him. “All of this—the lights, the championships, the cheers—none of it happened just because of me. Every day I step onto this court, I know my talent and strength come from something bigger than myself.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, listening intently.
“When I was younger than you, my father taught me something I’ll never forget. He said God doesn’t always give us what we want, but He always gives us what we need to become who we’re meant to be. Sometimes, that means facing hard things—things we don’t understand.”
Sarah’s lip quivered. “But why did God have to take my daddy? He was good. He believed. He prayed every day.”
Jordan’s eyes glistened. He thought of his own father, taken too soon, and the questions that haunted him after that loss. “Sarah, when I lost my dad, I was angry. I had questions, just like you. Sometimes the hardest part of faith isn’t believing in God’s power—it’s trusting His plan, especially when it hurts. But my father always told me: faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about trusting, even when the questions seem bigger than we can handle.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver chain with a small pendant. “This was a gift from my father. When I wear it, I remember that faith is like a seed. It needs both sunshine and rain to grow. The sunny days are easy, but it’s the rainy days—the hard days—that make our faith stronger.”
Sarah wiped her tears, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “Mr. Jordan, do you think my daddy can see me from heaven?”
Jordan squeezed her hand. “Sarah, I don’t just think it—I know it. And I bet he’s so proud of you, asking big questions and keeping your faith, even when it’s hard. I think God has a special plan for you, too. It takes a lot of strength to ask questions like yours. That strength comes from above—and from the love your daddy gave you.”
He pulled out a fresh white headband—the kind he wore in every game. “This was for tonight’s game, but I think it belongs with you now. Every time you look at it, remember: faith isn’t about never doubting. It’s about having courage to keep believing, keep asking, and keep growing—just like you’re doing.”
Sarah took the headband, tears flowing freely now, but they weren’t tears of grief anymore. Something in her heart had shifted.
Jordan noticed her hand still resting on her backpack. “May I?” he asked. Sarah nodded, handing him her father’s Bible. He flipped through its worn pages, stopping at Isaiah 41:10. He read aloud, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”
Sarah mouthed the words along with him. “Daddy used to read that to me before every hospital treatment.”
Jordan smiled, then wrote on the Bible’s first blank page:
*Dear Sarah,
Your father was right—God sends His angels in unexpected packages. Today, you were my angel. You reminded me why God gave me this platform: not just for basketball, but for moments like this, where faith meets courage, and questions meet hope. Remember, God’s plan is bigger than our pain. Your daddy lives on through your faith and your courage. Keep believing, princess. Heaven’s got a starting lineup, and your daddy’s right there, cheering you on.
—Michael Jordan*
As Sarah hugged the Bible and headband to her chest, Ellen wiped her own tears, grateful beyond words. The United Center, usually roaring with applause, was now filled with a sacred silence.
Later that night, Jordan invited Sarah and her mother to watch the game from his suite. But the real victory wasn’t on the scoreboard. It was in a little girl’s heart, where faith, hope, and love found their way home—one gentle answer at a time.
Years later, Sarah would become a chaplain at a children’s hospital, carrying her father’s Bible and Jordan’s headband as reminders of that day. She would tell children facing their own storms: “Sometimes God sends His angels in unexpected packages. Sometimes, He sends answers through the questions we dare to ask.”
And somewhere, in the great arena of heaven, a proud father watched his daughter, knowing that faith, like basketball, is about never giving up—no matter what the score.
