How Christians Suffer Differently

The rain was relentless, the wind bit hard
In the fading light, two children sat
Waiting

One, for her father
The other for -
well, he wasn't quite sure

'I'm cold,' he quivered
'So am I,' she said
'but I'll be warm soon.' 

'I'm wet,' he whispered
'Me too,' she said
'but not for long.'

'Must be nice to have a home.' he mused
'A father, a family, a future.' 

'It wasn't always this way,' she said
'I was once an orphan too.
I know thick winters and thin jackets
hunger and hostility.  
I know this curb ain't comfortable.' 

'Then Father picked me up,' her voice quickened
'Cleaned me, clothed me
taught me to smile, sent me to school.' 

'If he just 'picked you up', he'll likely 'put you down'.' 
The boy had seen how life worked:
Trash on the sidewalk
always ends up in the dump. 

'He won't. He can't.' she said
'He won't abandon who he's adopted.' 

'Then where is he now?' he challenged
for it was dark and they were drenched.
'Oh, he'll come.' she was confident - 
though the street screamed eerie silence
'He'll take you home too.' she added gently

He looked away -  away from the wind, it seemed.
But as the rain fell off one cheek
a tear rolled down the other. 

One storm 
Two children 
Same suffering
Suffering differently