The Play That Wasn't His

When Phil Jackson became head coach of the Chicago Bulls in 1989, he brought something Michael Jordan didn't want: the triangle offense. Designed by assistant coach Tex Winter, the system demanded that Jordan — the most explosive scorer in basketball — stop trying to win games alone. Share the ball. Move without it. Trust teammates who weren't half as talented.

Jordan resisted. He had averaged over 32 points per game the previous season and could score on anyone alive. Why should the best player in the world surrender the ball to Horace Grant or John Paxson?

But Jackson held firm, and Jordan obeyed. Not eagerly at first. But eventually, completely. He bought into a system he didn't design, trusted a coach whose philosophy baffled him, and played within a framework that felt like a cage for his gifts.

The result? Six NBA championships. The greatest dynasty in modern basketball.

There is something in Jordan's surrender that mirrors the life of faith. The Almighty rarely asks us to do what feels obvious. He tells a shepherd boy to face a giant with a sling. He instructs a general to march around a city in silence. He commands a prophet to speak to a valley of dry bones. Obedience so often means releasing the thing we grip tightest — our control, our strategy, our way.

But the God who calls also equips. As Proverbs 3:5-6 promises, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." The championship comes when we finally stop calling our own plays.