Looking for the Sun

18th of February 2012

5:24 a.m. I barely dragged myself out of bed. Can not see anything. Sun did not lean yet its nose out from the eiderdown made of clouds. I wake up the guys. We go to the bazaar to do some shopping. Sack of potatoes, half sack of carrots. The same quantity of onion. One hundred bananas. Fifteen pineapples. The list is quite long. Triciclo parked in the front of the house. We take with us a suck of coffe. A green one coffee. We have to roast it. With the eyes closed, we traverse the streets of Calca. The city is teeming with life. And the only thing I'm dreaming about is to go back to my bed. It's cold. The raindrops are falling slowly from the sky.

God, what am I doing here? I'm coming back with my thoughts to that day when everything inside of me was screaming with the joy. To that day when I've trusted Him so much that I've decided to follow Him. Without any fear. Without any doubt. *It is not so easy when you have to be awake since early morning until the late night. But still, everything is for Jesus; so like that everything is beautiful, even though it is difficult.*
It is not always easy. There are times when a smile is hiding somewhere under a pile of gray thoughts. The words are barely squeezing through the tightened lips. Feet fail. Everything around irritate. There is a lack of strength. Just like that, it's human. But after all it's a time of joy. Inside joy. Mine. In union with Him. After all, I'm doing what Jesus did when he was on the Earth. I'm fulfilling his warrant: "Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations". I help others to love God even if I still can't do that in a right way. He doesn't mind about my weakness, limits or poverty.. What could be more beautiful? To love and be loved. I'm opening my eyes. The rain gave a way for a few sun beams. I am just an instrument in your hands, nothing more.

*Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Calca through the lens

13rd of February 2012

Andes. My mountains. Every day different. Suprising. Beautiful.

One of a few cars in Calca.

A small shrine situated on patio of San Roman School.

My mountains again...

Sometimes they are wrapped in clouds...

Center of the Calca.

One of the bakeries. This one inside is so colourful.

Keep a cleanliness in the city. :)

Streets of Calca.

Church of Calca.

Calca pampers me with the colours.

The oldest house in Calca. They say it's haunted. :)

Feel the magic of the Christmas

21st of January 2012

I'm so tired that I can't even gather my thoughts. They ran away, every one of them in other direction. It's like a tag play. I'm chasing, I'm touching. Tomorrow again I have to wake up at daybreak. It's edvading. Thorough cleaning of the house. It's edvading. A while with a cup of tea in my hand. It's edvading. Cooking a dinner for the boys. It's edvading. Christmas time. Tag play.
I knew that it's possible to catch it. It's one of this thoughts that holds my neurons tightly and can't stop nagging me. Have you even thought about a mystery of Christmas?

Creaky snow under the feet, penetrating cold. Smell of the green Christmas tree and little lights refelcted in a big glass balls. Hours spent in the kitchen to prepare our polish dishes: herring in cream or some dumplings filled with meat. Christmas Eve wafer and the wishes said to one another with the tears in our eyes. Gifts wrapped in colour papers and tied up with a silky ribbon. House full of people and christmas carols singing to the accompaniment of guitar.

                                    

I was missing it this Christmas. Instead of snow I had a heated sun and some rain. In the corner of the room Christmas Tree tired of life dreaming of a new dress. Pancakes with cottage cheese and strawberries prepared a few minutes before a Christmas-Eve supper. Dark blue tablecloth and uncompleted tableware. Sunday’s jeans and flip-flops. Outstrechted sweater instead of white shirt. I was feeling bad. Everything inside of me was screaming, that’s in not like it should be. I was missing my house, the smell of spice cakes, Christmas wafer, strong arms of my Father, my Mum’s blue eyes, my sister’s laugh. Because of that sorrow I've built a wall around me. A high wall.

But He came, anyway. So silently that I did not notice. He's managed with my sadness and discouragement. Penetrated my imperfections and limits. Brought me a freshness and a power of life. Emmanuel. God is with us. In Poland and in Peru. Between the snow-covered pine trees and between coconut palms. In the palace with the marble floor and in a small cartoon houses. In the happy family and next to the cringed poor man in the dark corner of the street. It’s me and you who needs a Christmas tree and gifts. He only needs our heart. Everything else doesn’t metter. And it is this mystery of the Christmas. Mystery of God’s birth.