It was early morning. The dew still clung to the petals of the courtyard garden as Edwin Ng sat quietly, watching the sky shift from gray to gold. Grace sat beside him, wrapped in a shawl, her fingers gently intertwined with his. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.
After all, they had spent a lifetime listening — not just to each other, but to the still small voice that had guided them through every valley and mountaintop.
They were in their twilight years now. Slower in step, wiser in heart. Their roles had shifted, but the call had not. The mission remained:
To glorify God.
To heal the broken.
To build what would outlast them.
That day marked the 20th anniversary of NewFrame.
But there were no golden balloons. No celebrity preachers. No grand red carpets. That wasn’t their way.
Instead, they gathered in the open field behind NewFrame HQ, surrounded by 3,000 children, youth, volunteers, missionaries, business leaders, and partners from across the globe.
Some had flown in.
Many had been rescued.
All had been transformed.
A soft breeze carried the scent of jasmine and earth. It smelled like redemption.
Daniel stood at the wooden podium, hands trembling slightly — not from fear, but from awe.
Behind him were the members of the NewFrame Council, and beside him was Judea, now sixteen, guitar on her back, eyes radiant with a quiet fire.
He began with a truth they all knew deep in their bones:
“We are not here today because of our strength.
We are here because God is faithful.
And everything we’ve built — every house, every school, every prayer group, every soul restored — is not a monument to us…
But a testimony to the Master Builder.”
Daniel turned and motioned for Edwin and Grace to join him onstage.
They walked slowly but steadily, like pillars that had weathered decades of storms — still standing.
As they reached him, the crowd rose in honor.
Tears ran freely.
Not just because of who Edwin and Grace were.
But because of what they had not become.
They had not become celebrities.
They had not hoarded wealth.
They had not used God’s name for gain.
They had lived simply.
Loved deeply.
And laid down their lives daily for others.
Grace took the mic, her voice soft but resolute.
“Our hearts never desired riches.
We weren’t called to build a brand.
God gave us the honor of being used… to build His empire of mercy.
And every soul here… is a stone in that great kingdom.”
Edwin followed, voice cracking with emotion:
“I was once a boy shamed by his father.
Laughed at by relatives.
Told I would never finish school, never become anything.
But God…
God took my shattered name… and built a legacy.
Not for my sake — but for His glory.
He is the Master Builder of every good thing you see.
If He could use someone like me…
Then there’s no one too broken for Him to restore.”
Silence. Reverent. Sacred.
And then, from the center of the crowd, voices began to rise — spontaneous worship.
One by one, they began to sing:
“Unless the Lord builds the house…
The builders labor in vain…
But oh, when God lays the foundation…
No storm can shake what remains.”
Judea Grace Ng stepped forward, guitar in hand.
She played a song she had written the night before, in her journal, after a long prayer walk.
Her voice trembled, but the words rang clear:
We didn’t build for gold or gain,
But for the Lamb who bore our shame.
The bricks were prayers, the beams were tears,
And every floor a hundred years…
Now here we stand, no crowns to wear,
Just souls that learned to rise from prayer.
And still we sing, with voices raised:
“The Builder’s Name be ever praised!”
The crowd wept.
Hands lifted.
Hearts bowed.
It was not a concert.
It was not a show.
It was worship.
Later that night, under stars and warm lights, Edwin and Grace sat again under the mango tree.
They looked around — children laughing, teens sharing testimonies, staff praying over new leaders, elders hugging orphans.
Grace whispered, “We didn’t enrich ourselves. But look how rich we are.”
Edwin took her hand.
“We didn’t need a mansion. We got a kingdom.”
They had begun with little.
Faced rejection, hardship, and heartbreak.
But they chose obedience.
And that obedience became a flame.
That flame became a movement.
That movement became a legacy.
Not of man.
But of God.
Not of ambition.
But of surrender.
And not of fame.
But of faith.
Final Words
The greatest builders are often those the world never celebrates.
But heaven knows their names.
Edwin and Grace Ng were two such builders.
Their blueprints were soaked in tears.
Their walls were built in prayer.
And their legacy?
An empire of healing.
A kingdom of grace.
A generation of fire.
All pointing to One name:
Jesus — the Master Builder.
THE END.
