Her Silent Prayer | Lost Letters – Juliet Ellison

A journal entry written in the quiet of Clara’s heart

The window had long since blurred with dust, but she could still see the line where sky met earth. Each mile westward seemed to peel back another layer of the life she’d left behind.

She folded her hands in her lap. Not to write, not to hold anything—but to pray.

Lord, give me courage.
Let my heart not fail before the door even opens.
Let the man who waits—if he still waits—see something in me worth welcoming.

The train rattled steady beneath her, its rhythm like a heartbeat she could borrow for a little while. Every turn of the wheels whispered through the silence, answering what her voice could not.

Thank You for the miles that carried me this far.
Thank You that I am still here to hope.

The prairie stretched wide now, pale gold and endless. Somewhere beyond those hills lay Willow Creek. She pressed her palm to the cool glass, as if she might steady the trembling world outside.

When I arrive, help me begin again. Help me believe that even here—especially here—you are already waiting.

And then, for the first time in a very long while, she breathed as though the future might love her back.

🌾 Author’s Note

Clara’s whispered prayer marks the end of Lost Letters—and the beginning of Letters from Willow Creek.

Her prayer rises like dawn over unfamiliar ground—quiet, steady, and just brave enough to begin.