It was a snowy January morning when our plane lifted off from Kansas City International, but it was a balmy spring-like afternoon when we touched down in Guatemala City. I was traveling with a team of Volunteers in Mission (VIM), an outreach of the United Methodist Church. Our destination was the mountain village of San Juan Cotzal. We were one of a series of teams sent to Cotzal to help rebuild a church that had been destroyed during Guatemala's civil war.

Cotzal and its sister villages, Nebaj and Chajul, make up the Ixil triangle. The Ixil, descendants of the Maya, live much like their ancestors lived centuries ago.

Most of the men are farmers; most of the women are weavers. Other than crops and clothes, most Ixil have few possessions. Indoor plumbing is a luxury; most villagers wash their bodies and their clothes in the river. The region's electrical supply is not always reliable. Blackouts are common. The high surrounding mountains block television and radio signals, as well as most other forms of communication with the outside world. The literacy rate is low. Many villagers learn Spanish only as a second language, speaking Ixil in their homes. Most girls won't get more than a grade school education.

It is to such places as this that VIM sends volunteer construction workers to build homes, schools, churches, and hospitals.

Our team took most of two days to get from Guatemala City to San Juan Cotzal, traveling winding dirt roads that the Guatemalan army had built during the war while trying to find and suppress pockets of resistance.

During the war the Ixil triangle was one of the hot spots for fighting. Guerrilla troops used the surrounding mountains as one of their bases of operations. The Ixil were caught in the crossfire as both army and guerrilla troops attacked unarmed civilians, assuming the villagers were aiding the other side. Farmers were accosted walking home from their fields. Residents were dragged out of their homes at night and beaten or even murdered in the streets. Some were taken to unknown locations to be either imprisoned or killed. Even now, family members do not know whether their relatives are alive or dead.

The war is now officially over, but incidents of violence still occur from time to time. Thus we all felt a little uneasy as our bus rolled into Cotzal shortly after sunset on the second day. We found the streets engulfed in eerie, quiet night. Curt, the VIM team leader, warned us not to get out of the bus. All of us stayed packed on board, waiting nervously in the darkness.

Fortunately it wasn't long before we were met by Don Diego from the church, and shortly thereafter the street lights flickered on again. We felt lightened and relieved as we began to prepare for our stay. We unloaded the bus, and the ten of us settled into the two-room bunkhouse that would be our headquarters for the rest of the week.

We worked four days at the church, using only hand-powered tools. We learned to mix concrete by hand, pouring sand and cement into a volcano shape, then filling the center with water and using a shovel to mix it all together. When it was thoroughly mixed, we poured it into the window frames and smoothed it out using any flat objects we could find.

Those who weren't busy with the cement took chisels and punched dents in the walls, preparing them for later groups to stucco. Later in the week we built wooden benches for the congregation to use during worship.

Our time at the church wasn't all work. Since we had more volunteers than tools, we alternated between working and other activities, like taking pictures and interacting with the community around us. Sometimes we practiced Spanish with groups of children who gathered around the church to watch us. Their laughter and kindness seemed to speak of ancient generations of warmth and life here in Cotzal.

On our last night, we attended a worship service at the unfinished church. Our group had learned the Central American hymn "Tu Has Venido a la Orilla" ("You Have Come to the Lakeshore"), and we shared it during the service. We sang the English translation, and as the congregation recognized the melody, they joined us in Spanish. The music, surpassing language barriers, was a final reminder of how the differences between us were brought together through faith and fellowship.

Toward the end of the service, the pastor called our group to the front of the room, where the villagers presented us with what they called a small token of appreciation. Each member of our group received a hand-knitted Christmas stocking, which the women of Cotzal had made for us while we were there. The pastor told us the gifts his church gave could not make up for our sacrifices and our work at the church, but I believe the opposite was true.

As the VIM group gathered for devotionals the last night before we returned to the States, our leader Curt gave us a more complete perspective when he said that most of the Ixil are too poor to exchange Christmas gifts themselves.

I was amazed and humbled by the generosity of these simple mountain villagers. I had gone to Guatemala thinking I could make a difference in the lives of the people of San Juan Cotzal. My unexpected discovery was that they could make such a difference in my life, too.