her.

Remember your word to your servant, in which you have made me hope. This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life.                         Psalm 119:49-50    

Father, hold her.
Help her to know she can crawl into your arms, that you want so desperately for her to come closer, to finally, finally relax, to let go, to let the scales come off, to let the mummified layers be peeled off to restore the life that lies shaking and crippled beneath.  So much pain for so long is kept trapped, wound so tightly as to never let it breathe, but it comes, seeping through the tattered layers, ready to destroy and disintegrate with a resounding wave of applause by the eyes that watch and taunt and wait.
Spirit, protect her.
Speak to her, that she may know you have already won, those eyes that taunt will forever be silenced, just not now.
Jesus, fight for her.
May she know and feel the freedom you bought for her already.  That grace that comes so freely, the sun, the fountain that flows your love... it hurts at first, I know - but let it crash in and melt the layers and soak the shivering bones and pale flesh that shrinks at the touch of life, the promise of sun.  Let the wind rush in to every hiding corner filled with sand.  May she know that she's in your hand, that her folded body can stretch and sigh and rest.
Father, hold her.