As things in the world seem to be collapsing in ever more dramatic and unsettling ways, it is tempting for people to experience Weltschmerz , a very descriptive word that translates roughly as "world sorrow" or "world pain." We can become victims of a black world view that spirals downward into a hole where we just want to eat our favorite comfort food and cuddle under a fluffy, soft blanket. We avoid the news, and lose ourselves in escape fiction, movies, or television.

However, when we listen to the brethren (and Sheri Dew) telling us that this is the time for which we were born, and to get out and build the kingdom, we know that somehow we must deal with these feelings of ours in a more constructive way.

I have been working on my latest novel, The Last Waltz , for thirty-three years. Most of that time I was depressed. In such a state, it was difficult for me to take my characters through the meaningless suffering and terrible darkness of World War I that changed the world forever. My characters were so real to me that their pain was my pain—a physical suffering that seemed to center in my chest. Things weren't helped by the fact that my grandmother's brother had died in that war, just days before armistice.

One day, when I was attempting to deal with my heroine, Amalia's, pain, I was doing laundry. I clearly remember leaning over putting clothes in the dryer. The words came into my head, "G.G., you can't carry this. You weren't meant to. There was only One who ever could, and He has already done so." I was astonished. I thought about it, and realized it was direct revelation from my Heavenly Father to me to ease my sorrow.

The next bit really caused me a lot of thought, "G.G., you know that death isn't the ultimate tragedy." I started thinking about that, picturing all those millions of soldiers returning to their Redeemer, swarming into the spirit world, their physical suffering at an end. Then came the stunner, as I asked, "What is the ultimate tragedy?" The answer came immediately, "The ultimate tragedy lies in not doing what you were born to do."

I thought about this a lot. It gave my book the direction it was meant to have. I eventually used these words of wisdom in The Last Waltz , but I spent many hours trying to find out what it was I was meant to do. At that time, I was young with small children and very aware of my shortcomings. Though I was committed to my novel, I couldn't imagine that I could ever deal with such global subjects in a way that would be satisfying for a publisher.

I left off writing my novel, and concentrated on raising my children so they could have all the weapons they needed to fight the adversary, and doing my genealogy so that my ancestors would have the opportunity to accept the gospel. When my children all left home, and I had gone as far as I could go with my genealogy, I wondered where to go from there. This sent me to my patriarchal blessing and to the temple. I worked there for five years, until my depression made it impossible. Then, I was even more at sea.

Finally, when I was so miraculously cured, I realized what I was born to do. I was born to give hope to those who were suffering in any way that I could. That is why I write about the atonement. The atonement does what I can't do. I can't go into each of your homes and take away your trials. As the Lord said to me, "There is only One who can, and He has already done it."

Our Stake President urged us all last week to study our patriarchal blessings and divine, with the help of the Lord, what our special mission is in these troubled times. If we have a goal, if we are doing "what we were born to do," we will not be crippled by Weltschmerz. Instead we will be building the Kingdom, preparing the earth to receive our Savior when he comes again. There are legions of angels waiting to help us. We have the true and living gospel. We have the scriptures. We have the temple. We can use all these things to bring us out of our fear or concern over the future, and put us to work doing whatever it is our Savior requires of us.