The new house wasn’t much to look at.
It had chipped paint, cracked floors, and weeds that fought for space in the backyard. But to Edwin, Grace, and Daniel, it was holy ground.
They called it the NewFrame House — the first physical home for youth under their care. It had space for ten, and already, five teenagers had moved in, each one with a story that mirrored Daniel’s: abandonment, foster bouncing, broken trust.
It was beautiful.
It was messy.
It was exactly what they were called to do.
Edwin balanced his cybersecurity job with mentoring and overseeing renovations. Grace managed the day-to-day operations of the house — coordinating meals, prayer times, tutoring, and counseling schedules. Volunteers came in waves — some stayed, some didn’t. But God kept sending just enough.
Daniel was now 16. He had his own room, his own chores, and a quiet role as “big brother” to the boys.
But with age came questions. With influence came pressure.
One night, after a worship session in the NewFrame House, Daniel pulled Edwin aside.
“Why me?” he asked, eyes serious. “Why did you and Grace choose me when there were probably hundreds of kids who needed help?”
Edwin paused, then said,
“Because when we saw you… we saw purpose. And because God didn’t choose us based on numbers. He chose us based on love.”
Daniel looked down. “Sometimes I still feel like I don’t belong. Like I’m just a story people point to.”
“You’re not a story, son. You’re a seed. And seeds take time to root before they rise.”
Daniel began withdrawing for a while.
Not from rebellion — but from fear.
He started saying less during devotions. Spent more time sketching alone. When Grace asked if he was okay, he’d smile and say, “Yeah, just tired.”
But Edwin knew that look. He had worn it once — the mask of “I’m fine” hiding the ache of “I don’t know who I am.”
Then came the blow.
One of Daniel’s old friends from the streets showed up — older, rough around the edges, and bitter.
“I heard you’re living with some Christians now,” the boy sneered. “What, you their charity project? Their little saved pet?”
Daniel’s fists clenched. His heart twisted.
He had worked so hard to feel normal.
To believe he belonged.
But in that moment, the old shame screamed louder than all the Sunday sermons.
That night, Daniel didn’t come home on time.
Hours passed. Grace stayed near the window, phone in hand, praying under her breath. Edwin drove around the city, searching.
Finally, just past midnight, he found Daniel sitting on a curb outside a closed basketball court — hood up, hands in his lap, tears on his face.
“I didn’t ask to be adopted,” he whispered.
“I didn’t ask to be someone’s project.”
Edwin sat beside him.
“I know. And we never saw you that way. You’re not here because we pity you. You’re here because we love you. Because God saw you… and gave us the privilege to be your family.”
Daniel turned to him, eyes tired.
“Then why does it feel so hard to believe I’m really… enough?”
Edwin placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Because the enemy knows who you’re becoming. And he’s trying to stop it before you even see it.”
The next day, Daniel stood in front of the younger boys at NewFrame House. He didn’t preach. He didn’t pretend.
He just said:
“I almost ran last night. But God caught me — again. I still don’t have it all figured out. But I know this place… this family… is real. Even when I doubt it.”
And from that moment, the atmosphere shifted.
The younger boys leaned in.
Walls came down.
The house didn’t just feel safe. It felt sacred.
Grace later told Edwin, “God isn’t just building a shelter. He’s building an army — of healed hearts who’ll go out and do the same for others.”
Edwin smiled. “Then it’s time to prepare them not just to survive… but to lead.”
That fall, Daniel officially became a co-leader in the youth mentorship program at NewFrame. His first workshop?
“Healing Doesn’t Mean Hiding: How God Uses Broken Stories.”
He didn’t hold back.
He spoke of pain.
Of anger.
Of shame.
But he also spoke of grace.
Of family.
Of Jesus.
The seed had taken root.
The boy who once doubted if he belonged…
Was now helping others believe they could begin again.
The NewFrame Project was no longer just a home.
It was a movement.
Born from love. Built through faith.
And expanding — one story, one soul, one “yes” at a time.
