I've just returned from six weeks of living outside the comfort zone of my own language.

I first went to Germany at age 4, when I evolved a curious mix of German-English I'd use with anyone willing to listen.

My husband and I have made several return visits to this childhood home of ours in recent years. Like me, he lived in Germany as a child with his military family, just a few miles from where my own family was stationed. Unlike me, he retained his German, along with a polished accent that convinces native speakers that he must be fluent.

In our first visits there, I wanted to trot out whatever remnants of German I'd squirreled away but felt too shy as I watched him conversing fluidly. I didn't possess that same "correct" accent, and the stage fright of trying to speak another language spontaneously only seemed to accentuate that fact. I understood now why our daughter, whose overseas living experience eventually gave her fluency in Mandarin, was initially unwilling to practice speaking it in front of anyone she actually knew.

I was determined to grasp this language in which I'd once been so immersed, at least enough to converse with some of the wonderful friends we've made in Deutschland without their having to drag out their high-school English. I wanted to share the intimacy of communicating with people I care about in their own language. And, I admit, I wanted the secret pleasure of seeing in their faces the kind of surprise that illuminated the glazed-over eyes of Shanghai taxi drivers when our daughter addressed them politely in pitch-perfect Chinese.

So, true to my personal learning style, I took my efforts underground. (When I set a goal, I generally have the resolve to reach it, but see no reason to set myself up for public humiliation in the process.) I kept my study to myself as I bought a variety of German/English dictionaries and phrasebooks and stocked my car with conversational CDs. After the first 50 miles or so, I could tell you all about train schedules for Erfurt and Ulm, how to book a double room, or find the breakfast room or bank.

I found German-news sites on the Internet and read aloud from them, ordered German/English magazines and made myself read the German version first. As I gained vocabulary, I swapped my Baha'i prayer book for one in Deutsch.

When it was time for me to actually practice speaking, the perfect partner arrived - the Miniature Schnauzer we inherited when my dad moved into assisted living. I wasn't ready for two-way exchanges yet anyway, and knew she'd keep my confidence. Plus, as I told her, "This is the language of your ancestors, after all."

In early July, my husband and I flew to Frankfurt to begin a three-week vacation together, after which I stayed on for nearly as long with our German friends. As I read maps and road signs, I was secretly pleased at how readily I pronounced even the most multisyllabic names. I shopped easily without need of "interpreter" and ordered meals without asking for the English menu.

And I was reminded again about how much "having" a language goes well beyond words. German restaurants and cafés are usually much quieter places than those here at home, so much so that Americans can feel downright self-conscious in them, at first. Eventually you realize that people haven't stopped talking because you're there. They simply operate at more reserved decibels, something very helpful and considerate in a country with lots of small spaces.

Conversely, complete strangers unfailingly greet you upon your arrival and departure in these same public spaces, and look at you surprised if you don't do the same — even though they may not say another word to you throughout your meal. This commonly accepted, mutually respectful courtesy is the same practice that allows those of all ages, sizes, and genders to be completely at ease while simultaneously experiencing the benefits of spa or sauna without any clothes on.

There are, of course, many nuances and unspoken elements that go with being fluent in a language, which, by default, means you've become fairly conversant with a culture, as well. Might there be a common denominator, I've wondered, for achieving some of that cultural fluency, even when you don't know that language?

Among the wealth of guidance that Baha'u'llah has offered for uniting a very diverse world is the adoption by the nations of an international auxiliary language. Taught during childhood in addition to one's native tongue, this will help establish a world that is "even as one land and one home" for everyone. We see every day in international news why such a tool is essential if we want to move past the kinds of misunderstandings that consistently pose barriers to amicable association and agreement.

When I taught English to kindergartners in China, the curriculum I used also introduced another, more universal language that I believe human beings everywhere are pre-programmed to speak: the language of virtues. Living in a country where you can't speak the language, as I did, you gain new appreciation for spiritual characteristics as facilitators of relationship and communication. A smile, a kind look, an encouraging gesture are all something we can recognize wherever we go, whatever our mother tongue.

Ironically, while I was in Germany, my fledgling attempts at actually speaking the language were significantly enhanced when I'd relax and look into the eyes of whoever was before me. Then the gems of human goodness we all seek became more visible and it was amazing how much I understood intuitively. My unforgettable afternoon with Olga, the lovely woman from Kyrgyzstan who married our friend Ralf, was a poignant reminder of this. German is a second language for each of us, and while our conversation was necessarily limited, our tears and laughter demonstrated that we found an ability to communicate that went way beyond words.

In fact, since I couldn't fall back mindlessly on words during my six-week adventure, I found myself listening at a whole other level. I was repeatedly surprised at how quickly I could connect with others when there was less focus on words, when I was unafraid of silence, willing to practice presence. This contact felt soul-to-soul, almost a euphoric kind of telepathy, at times.

I don't know what the universal auxiliary language of which Baha'u'llah speaks will be, or whether I'll even live to see it at work in the world. But I do feel as though I've caught a glimpse over these last weeks of what surely must be one of its essential ingredients: the vocabulary God already treasured inside each of us, the one that seems to find its best expression in actions, and kindness, and needs no translation at all.

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Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © Copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring.