The old mango tree behind NewFrame House stretched higher than ever, its branches heavy with fruit. Edwin Ng liked to sit beneath it in the early morning, a wool blanket over his knees, watching the sky pinken while humming the hymn that had followed him since boyhood:
Great is Thy faithfulness…
His hair was silver now; his hands shook a little when he poured coffee. But his eyes—still bright, still kind—followed every new volunteer who walked through the courtyard gates. Grace often teased that he noticed newcomers faster than the security cameras he once helped install.
Grace—the heartbeat of the house—moved more slowly these days, leaning on a carved cane Daniel had bought in Uganda. Arthritis troubled her, and sometimes she forgot where she’d left her reading glasses. Yet each afternoon she slipped into the prayer room, laying a shawl over her shoulders and interceding for the children she might never meet but already loved.
The Founder’s Book
Daniel, now 28, suggested the idea first.
“Mom, Dad, the movement needs your story in writing. Not a memoir of miracles—an honest map of failures, doubts, and the small yeses that built all this.”
Edwin resisted. Humility was too ingrained.
Grace smiled knowingly. “Perhaps the lessons will outlive the voices that taught them.”
So on Tuesdays, Daniel wheeled a camera into the garden. He asked questions; Edwin and Grace answered, laughing and crying as decades unfolded: the car-repair shop, the blood compact, Canada, Daniel’s adoption, Judea’s birth, the underground fire. A team of young writers transcribed every session. The working title settled quietly in Grace’s notebook:
From Broken to Belonging: The NewFrame Story
Pressure from the Spotlight
Meanwhile, media outlets learned a teenager was stirring prayer groups on four continents. Invitations poured in:
Television interviews, magazine spreads, a documentary contract.
Judea—now fourteen—felt the tug of two worlds. She loved worship nights in dim basements; she also loved cameras and microphones, the tools that could amplify a message. But Daniel remembered burnt-out prodigies he’d counseled in the Sanctuary program. He called a family meeting around the dinner table.
“Public platforms aren’t sinful,” he said gently, looking at Judea. “But publicity can crush callings not yet rooted.”
Judea nodded, tears brimming. “I don’t want the fire to flicker because I held it too close to a spotlight.”
Edwin squeezed her hand. “The anointing is safest when guarded by community. We’ll walk this—together.”
They drafted a simple rule: No invitation accepted without a season of prayer and unanimous peace among the three generations.
A Sudden Storm
That winter, Grace collapsed while teaching a devotional to the girls’ house. She was rushed to the hospital with severe pneumonia complicated by her arthritis medication. For three nights, machines hummed beside her bed. Edwin stayed awake reciting Psalms; Daniel organized round-the-clock prayer; Judea slipped paper cranes under Grace’s pillow, each labeled with a promise of healing.
On the fourth morning, Grace woke lucid, eyes clear.
“I dreamed the tree was still bearing fruit,” she whispered. “And birds carried the seeds farther than we ever walked.”
She recovered slowly, but the scare marked the family: time was precious.
Guardians of the Flame
Back at headquarters, Daniel unveiled a governance plan Edwin had only half-expected: a Council of Twelve—leaders from each NewFrame region, diverse in culture but united in ethos. They would share decision-making, finances, and doctrinal guardrails, ensuring the movement never revolved around a single surname again.
Edwin signed the charter with shaky hands.
Grace prayed over each seal.
Judea read Isaiah 61 aloud in three languages the council represented.
The Quiet Commissioning
On the eve of NewFrame’s fifteenth anniversary, the family gathered in the candle-lit chapel where Edwin and Grace had once exchanged vows. Only council members and a few lifelong friends were present. Daniel knelt; Edwin and Grace anointed him with fragrant oil from Jerusalem.
Edwin spoke first:
“We release what was never ours to keep. Lead with a limp, son—so you will always lean on the Shepherd.”
Grace added:
“And remember, Daniel, movements flourish when mothers pray unseen. Honor the hidden ones.”
Finally, Judea stepped forward. She placed her “Talk Book,” now filled front to back, into Daniel’s hands.
“Kuya, these dreams belong to all of us now. Plant them where God says.”
Tears mingled with oil. No applause. Only a lingering hush—heaven’s acknowledgement.
Epilogue of the Chapter
Legacy is not a baton passed once.
It’s a river feeding many fields.
Edwin and Grace, weathered but unwavering, now stand on the bank, blessing the waters they once waded through alone.
Daniel steers the current into wider lands.
And Judea—torch in hand—listens for the next whisper that will set unseen places ablaze.
