Still in Motion: What I’m Learning After the Launch

I thought the hard part was writing the book.

Turns out, the harder part is still living through everything I wrote about.

Since launching Divinity In Motion... When He Calls, I’ve been overwhelmed — not just by the love and support, but by the weight of it all. The comments, the messages, the people telling me how much they see themselves in the pages… It’s beautiful and humbling, but it’s also heavy. Because I still carry some of that same pain too.

I’ve had days where I’ve been fueled by purpose — shipping out books, creating with intention, and showing up for Wade Designs. And I’ve had days where I had to literally force myself out of bed and whisper, “God, just help me get through the next 10 minutes.”

This season has been proof that healing doesn’t end at the last page. It’s a journey. A motion. A choice. Every single day.

This Isn’t Just a Church Book

Let’s be real. Some people see the title and think this book is all church. All scripture. All tied up in faith.

But let me be clear — Divinity in Motion... When He Calls is not just about faith.
It’s about life.

It’s about trauma.
It’s about the streets.
It’s about trying to stay alive long enough to heal.

It’s about what happens when life cracks you wide open… and the only thing keeping you from breaking completely is a whisper from God that says, “Not yet.”

Yes, there’s faith in this book. But it comes after pain, not instead of it.

Excerpt from Chapter 12: Time to Listen

It had been eight months.
Two hundred and forty-three nights. I kept count at first—then I stopped. Because eventually, counting didn’t help when the nights were cold, the sidewalks hard, and hunger followed me like a shadow.

I was sixteen, nearly seventeen now. Not grown. Not a child. Somewhere in between. Somewhere lost—like the space between the neon lights and the sunrise.

The streets had taught me how to sleep light and walk fast. How to keep one hand in my coat pocket wrapped around my cash. How to make eye contact just long enough to prove I wasn’t an easy target.

I learned which alleys were safe to nap in during the day and which corners to avoid after sunset. Summer made me sweat and stink. Fall made me ache. Winter had almost broken me. A few times, I thought I might not wake up from the cold.

But I always did. Barely.

Harmony called often. So did Tia… They never begged. They never yelled. They just said the same things in different ways,
“We love you.”
“Please come back.”

Meet Sam

Her name was Sam—short for Samantha. She’d been on the streets since she was fifteen. She was eighteen when I met her. Tough, wiry, sharp-tongued. She was dark skinned. She had these dark eyes that looked like they’d seen everything, and probably had. Considering all she had been through she was still beautiful.

I met her my second week out. I was sitting outside a laundromat, cold and stupid, clutching a half-empty water bottle like it was some kind of lifeline. She walked right up to me, looked me over, and said, “You’re new.”

I nodded, even though I hated how easy it was to read me. Sam sat down like she didn’t have anywhere better to be and shared half a granola bar.

“Rule one,” she said. “Don’t sleep in the same place twice in a row. Rule two, always keep a piece of metal in your sock. Rule three, people will offer you things. Most of them will cost you later.”

This is what healing looks like when it’s messy. This is what it means to still be in motion — not picture-perfect, not tied with a bow, but real. Honest. Still breathing. Still fighting.

Still Creating Through It All

Even as I write this, I'm still designing new products with Wade Designs — pouring that same emotion into planners and journals that help people start fresh.

💜 The Refresh Sale is still live — because it's never too late to reset.
📚 And the Back-to-School Collection is growing — notebooks, notepads, and journals that speak life into our students.

So if you’re here, thank you. If you’re still healing, me too. If you’re still in motion — keep going.

God hasn’t left you.

I promise.

— Cassandra Wade