Three years ago our son Aaron married a beautiful girl from Mexico named Lucy. Aaron speaks Spanish fluently as a result of serving his mission in Chile. Lucy speaks English so well now I have almost forgotten it is not her native tongue. A year ago they gave us a beautiful little granddaughter, also named Lucy. In February my husband Thom and I headed to Mexico to help celebrate her first birthday, held in Poza Rica, near the Gulf of Mexico, where her other set of grandparents live.

Many of our trips begin with an “aha” moment.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“My cell phone is still hooked to the charger in the bathroom.”

This trip was no different.

“Uh oh.”

“What did we forget this time?”

“Our Spanish phrasebooks, both of them. I left them sitting on the bed. I picked up this electronic translator that you type the word into and it tells you the meaning. That’s all we’ve got.”

“Well then, it’s going to have to get us by.”

When “Mama Lucy” heard we were planning to fly out for the birthday party, she said, “I don’t know, Susan. Poza Rica is hard to find. You can’t ask for directions. Thom only knows how to say ‘enchilada’ and ‘burrito.’”

Undaunted, Thom told me, “You only need to know how to say one thing to get along in any country.”

“Dondé esta el bano?”

“No. You need to know the word for ‘beautiful.’ You tell any mother her child is beautiful, and she will help you.”

“Good idea.”

“Bella. Belle. Bonita.”

“I think it helps if you put a ‘muy’ in front of it. Or is it ‘mucho?’”

“You say ‘very beautiful,’ not ‘much beautiful.’”

“Okay. So after you tell her how beautiful her child is, then you ask where the bathroom is. Got it.”

Alone on the Road

We spent a few days in Mexico City, and then the plan was that we would meet our son’s plane when it came in, pick up our rental car and drive to Poza Rica with someone who knew both the language and the way to get there. However, things did not exactly work out as planned, and after five fruitless hours at the airport, a late flight that he wasn’t even on, confusion between two gates, and no way of being able to reach him, we gave up on trying to find our son.

We discovered our rental car had been cancelled and the rental car agent was going to charge us twice us much for a new one. Finally on the road, after finding an internet café and booking a new rental car, I reminded my husband, “The word is ‘bonita,’ not ‘bandito.’”

We were on our own, late at night, armed only with our electronic translator and a map with the cities listed in four-point type that I could barely read, with or without my bifocals — in other words, an adventure. Thom drove, and I typed unfamiliar words from street signs into the translator in the dark.

“What does that sign mean?”

“I couldn’t read the words through the spray paint.”

A few miles later. “There it is again. Could you read any of the words on that one?”

“We’ll come to one that hasn’t been spray painted sooner or later.”

“There’s one. Did you get it?

I typed the words onto the screen and pushed the button for a translation. “Okay, got it. It means, ‘Don’t molest or abuse the signs.’”

Ways to Communicate

It was 3:30 a.m. when we finally pulled in to Poza Rica. A quick phone call and Lucy’s father and sister were there within five minutes to lead us to their home. Juan Carlos and “Grandma Lucy” know about as much English as we do Spanish, but from the first time we met them, we’ve found ways to communicate. Now and then one of us would grab the nearest bi-lingual person to use as a translator, but more often than not, we managed to communicate some other way.

We may not share language, but we share a common bond of love for a beautiful little granddaughter, and I’m not saying that just because I need directions to the bathroom. We also share a common testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

When they heard we were coming, they insisted we stay with them, giving up their bedroom and sleeping on a mattress in the living room. That alone spoke volumes to us. It said, “You are family.” Besides “muy bonita,” I believe “muy delicioso” and “muy divertido” also come in handy.

It is amazing what you can communicate with only a word or two. When we watched the video from baby Lucy’s birthday party, I realized my Latin dancing to the salsa music as we cleaned up had been caught on tape. All I needed was a rose between my teeth. My husband only said one word, “Tequila.” No interpreter was needed as we laughed together.

We sat in a gospel doctrine class on Sunday, following along in our scriptures as the Spanish was read, adding a few additional words to our pool. Although we did not understand most of what was said, we could feel the spirit of the meeting. As Lucy’s mother bore her testimony, I felt the depth of her belief. It wasn’t a “speaking in tongues” experience where I understood the words, but I understood the feelings behind the words. Feeling in tongues, that’s it.

One evening the baby was left in the care of four besotted grandparents. Together we experienced the pure enjoyment of watching the antics of little Lucy, and she even took a couple of her first faltering steps from one “abuelo” to the other, something we will forever share.

All too soon we were pulling away in our rental car, making the trip back to Mexico City this time in the daylight, with a hand-drawn map by Juan Carlos showing us how to get to the Mexico City Temple. I can still picture them standing there in front of their brightly-painted home, holding the baby and getting her to wave at us and blow kisses. We were going to miss that little one so much, but we also pulled away hoping it wouldn’t be too long before another family event brought us together again with our co-grandparents, Juan Carlos and Grandma Lucy.