A Little Girl Asks Michael Jordan About God – His Response Brings Her To Tears
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A Little Girl Asks Michael Jordan About God – His Response Brings Her To Tears
Wendy Thompson was just ten years old, but she already understood more about hope and hardship than most adults. Every night, while her hard-working single mother, Jessica, worked the late shift at the diner, Wendy would sit quietly in their small apartment, tracing the patchwork on her beloved teddy bear, Mr. Fuzzy. The bear’s button eye was loose—a little wobbly from years of hugs and repairs—but to Wendy, it was perfect.
One evening, as the television flickered in the background, Wendy’s attention was caught by a news segment: “And now, an interview with Michael Jordan about his commitment to helping underprivileged children.” Wendy sat up straighter, her brown eyes wide. She listened as the legendary basketball player spoke about giving every child a chance at a better future. As the interview ended, Wendy turned to Mr. Fuzzy. “Do you think he really means it? Do you think he could help us?”
That night, when her mother returned home, exhausted but smiling, Wendy shared her idea: “Mom, what if I wrote him a letter?” Jessica hesitated, not wanting to crush her daughter’s hope. “If you want to write, we can try sending it.” Wendy’s face lit up. She grabbed her crayon box and a piece of paper, and with Mr. Fuzzy by her side, she wrote: “Dear Michael Jordan, does God really listen to the prayers of children? My mom works so hard, and I pray every night that things will get better. Sometimes I wonder if God hears me.”
The next morning, Wendy and her mother slipped the letter into the mailbox. Wendy bounced with excitement all the way to the bus stop. “How many days until he gets it?” she asked. Jessica smiled, “It might take a while, sweetheart. Remember, he gets lots of letters.” But Wendy’s hope was undimmed. “Mine has a special drawing,” she insisted.
At school, Wendy told her best friend Jenny about the letter. Tommy, a boy at the next table, overheard and laughed. “Michael Jordan’s way too busy for kids’ letters!” Wendy felt her cheeks burn, but Jenny defended her. Still, Tommy’s words echoed in Wendy’s mind.
Every day after school, Wendy checked the mailbox. In her room, she created a “waiting space,” marking each day on a calendar, Mr. Fuzzy standing guard. Weeks passed, and even Wendy’s hope began to waver. One night, she asked her mother, “Is God too busy for prayers, just like Michael Jordan might be too busy for letters?” Jessica hugged her tight. “God is never too busy. Sometimes answers come in ways we don’t expect.”
At school, Tommy’s teasing grew worse. “He doesn’t respond to crayon letters!” he jeered. Wendy marched up to him, fist clenched. “You’re a liar and you’re mean! Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean other people can’t.” A teacher intervened, and later told Wendy, “I wrote to Michael Jordan once. He did reply, but what mattered most was being brave enough to ask.”
That night, Wendy added a heart to her calendar. “Being brave is important, even if you never get a reply,” she told her mother. Jessica felt a surge of pride for her daughter’s resilience.
Thirty-two days after mailing her letter, Wendy was called out of class to the principal’s office. Her heart pounded with fear. In the office, she found a woman in a black suit and a phone set to speaker mode. “Wendy,” the woman said kindly, “we’re calling from Michael Jordan’s correspondence office. Someone here would like to speak with you.”
Wendy’s legs trembled. “Michael Jordan?” she whispered.
A warm, professional voice came from the speaker. “Hello Wendy, this is Angela from Mr. Jordan’s team. We received your letter, and it touched many hearts. Michael was especially moved by your questions about faith and your story about Mr. Fuzzy. He’d like to invite you and your mother to Chicago for a special meeting.”
Jessica, called from her shift at the diner, arrived breathless. “Is this real?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Very real,” Angela replied. “Everything has been arranged.”
Wendy returned to class, her classmates buzzing with excitement. Even Tommy was speechless. That afternoon, Wendy hugged Mr. Fuzzy in her waiting space. “It worked,” she whispered. “We’re going to Chicago.”
The next two days were a whirlwind—packing, phone calls, and borrowed suitcases. Mrs. Rodriguez, their neighbor, lent Wendy a small blue suitcase. “It brought my granddaughter luck on her first trip,” she said. The morning of their flight, Wendy wore her pink dress with a white collar. Jessica, in a borrowed navy dress, tried to hide her nerves about flying.
At the airport, a serious-looking man in a suit introduced himself as Agent Brooks. “You’re on a big adventure,” he said as he guided them through security. On the plane, Wendy pressed her face to the window, marveling at the tiny cars and cotton-candy clouds. “Mom, what if Michael Jordan can’t help us?” she asked. Jessica squeezed her hand. “Then we’ll keep doing our best. But you did something amazing, Wendy. You wrote a letter with honest faith. That’s special.”
A car met them in Chicago, and a friendly woman named Mia drove them to their hotel. The next morning, pancakes shaped like stars awaited them for breakfast. At 9:00 a.m., Mrs. Parker from Michael Jordan’s team arrived. “Ready for your special day?” she asked. Wendy nodded, clutching Mr. Fuzzy.
They passed through security and were led into a bright room with comfortable chairs. Jessica squeezed Wendy’s hand. “Just be yourself,” she whispered. The door opened, and Michael Jordan entered, taller and more real than Wendy had imagined. He smiled warmly. “You must be Wendy. And who is this?” he asked, nodding to Mr. Fuzzy.
“He helped me write the letter,” Wendy replied.
Michael Jordan knelt to examine the bear’s loose button eye. “Sometimes, the things that are a little broken help us the most. They remind us we don’t have to be perfect to be valuable.”
Jessica wiped away tears. Michael turned to Wendy. “I read your letter carefully. You asked if God has a plan for families like yours, and why some prayers take so long to be answered.”
Wendy nodded, gathering her courage. “Does He?”
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “When I was young, I thought success meant having the most—money, trophies, big buildings. But over the years, I learned that sometimes God’s plan looks different. Look at Mr. Fuzzy. His loose button tells a story. It shows he’s been loved and fixed by someone who cares. Sometimes God’s plan is like that—imperfect on the outside, but holding something more valuable inside: love and faith.”
Wendy looked at her bear, seeing him with new eyes.
“But what about families who work hard and still struggle?” she asked.
“That’s a very important question, Wendy. Your letter made me realize we need to do more for families like yours.” He turned to Jessica. “Mrs. Thompson, could you tell me about your work?”
Jessica described her jobs, the bills, the struggle to give Wendy a good life. Michael listened intently. “Sometimes, God uses people—even children—to answer the prayers of others. Your letter didn’t just reach my desk, Wendy—it reached my heart. We’re starting a new program to help working families, and your letter helped shape it.”
He handed Wendy her letter, the crayon colors still bright. “Sometimes, it takes a child’s drawing to help us see clearly.”
Wendy’s eyes filled with tears. “So, you really think God heard my prayers?”
Michael smiled. “I think God heard your prayers so clearly that He made sure your letter reached me at the right time.”
He turned to Jessica. “We’d like you to join the pilot group for our new job training program. Better hours, better pay, and more time with your daughter.”
Jessica was speechless. Wendy grinned. “Say yes, Mom!”
Michael laughed. “Your daughter has good instincts.”
As the meeting ended, Michael handed Wendy a small box. Inside was a shiny new button and a note: “For Mr. Fuzzy, but only if you want to change his eye. Sometimes our imperfections tell the best stories.”
Wendy looked at the button, then at Mr. Fuzzy’s loose eye. “I think he should keep the loose eye,” she said. “It reminds me of when Mom fixed him, and that you don’t have to be perfect to be special.”
Michael nodded. “Would you mind if we shared your story? I think many families could use that reminder.”
Wendy smiled. “And maybe we could give the new button to someone who really needs it.” She thought of Tommy, the boy who had teased her. “Maybe he needs to know that broken things can still be special.”
Michael was touched. “That’s a wonderful idea. And your story will help many families.”
The next day, as Wendy and her mother flew home, Mia handed them a large envelope. “Michael wanted you to have this.” On the plane, Wendy opened it to find letters from families all over America—stories of hope and healing inspired by her letter. Among them was a letter from her father, who had left years ago. “Maybe this is my loose button,” he wrote, enclosing a button from his old police uniform. “Maybe broken things can heal, even if they’re never the same.”
At the airport, Wendy was greeted by classmates and neighbors, including Tommy. He held out a toy with a missing arm. “Maybe it’s special, too,” he said. Wendy gave him the new button from Michael. “Not to fix your toy, but to remind you that broken things tell important stories.”
That night, Wendy hugged Mr. Fuzzy, his loose button eye pressed to her cheek. “Sometimes, God answers prayers in ways we don’t expect,” she whispered. “Sometimes a loose button isn’t really loose at all—it’s just connected to something bigger than we can see.”
As she drifted to sleep, Wendy knew that her small act of faith—one crayon letter, one loose button—had touched more lives than she could ever imagine. And somewhere, in homes across the country, other children hugged their imperfect toys a little tighter, reminded that hope, love, and faith could turn even the loosest button into something beautiful.
