Why go to church?

Through the years I have asked myself this many times:
-as a youth, who didn't feel like she fit in her class;
-as a college student in a university where the gospel doctrine teacher taught the Old Testament from a feminist slant, the branch president endorsed rated-R movies, and one student not only told us that we didn't need temples ("our churches are set-apart to do everything we need done"), but challenged visiting Elder Holland about why the church excommunicates so many intellectuals;
-as a mom with young kids who seemed bent on making sure each week was not only stressful and pointless (when I couldn't hear anything), but incredibly embarrassing;
-as a woman in an exclusively Hungarian-speaking meeting, not understanding more than "and" and "also" in sentences.

I never considered not going (alright, sometimes it seemed tempting :)...), but it was merely a question that would drift across my mind....particularly when I didn't seem to hear or understand anything.

Then, two days ago, I came across this powerful article in the March Ensign, called "A Sign from Mosetta".   In the story, the author met Mosetta, a woman in a ward in Mississippi, where the author, Heather, had just moved.  Heather says:

I learned that not only was Mosetta deaf, but she also had trouble speaking. She knew a southern dialect of ASL, could read simple things, and had learned to write the necessities: “I want to …”

Heather relates something Mosetta shared with her on one visit:

She motioned for me to sit down. It became clear that she wanted to talk about the gospel. She pulled out her copy of the Book of Mormon that the missionaries had given her before she joined the Church. She then showed me some other pamphlets she had received from representatives of other religions who had knocked at her door. She shook her head and signed, “No—not for me!” and then, holding the Book of Mormon, smiled and nodded her head “Yes!” while placing her hand on her heart.

I sat there amazed, wondering how she could have embraced the Church and all there is to know about the gospel. With her limited access to gospel knowledge, how did she know she wanted to commit herself to this Church? Did she really know all that Latter-day Saints believed? (At that time there weren’t as many materials as there are today for members who are deaf.) As I thought about it, the answer came swiftly and simply. She knew it was good because she had felt the Spirit in her heart, and that was enough. That realization strengthened my testimony, and I found myself wanting that kind of spirituality in my own life. Until I met Mosetta, I hadn’t known that such a deep level of spiritual sensitivity was possible. (See Alma 32:28.)

So, with that background, this next part of the story truly changed my perspective forever about church attendance:

Mosetta continued to come to church with me for several years. Each week, she sat patiently with a smile on her lips for three long hours on hard chairs. She never heard a word and never made a comment, but she was there.

Can you imagine?  Sitting for three hours in silence, not understanding a word--just to feel the Spirit?  It struck me so strongly:  that is why I go to church each week.  As I partake of the Sacrament (which I can do with squirmy, noisy kids or after listening to the prayer in a different language) and allow myself to feel the Spirit, I can be fed.

Thanks, Mosetta, for your example from Mississippi, and for Heather who shared it.  The power of one little candle, one little nail, sharing across the span of miles and time to touch my life in a powerful way.