Every step I took was an effort.

It seemed no matter what I did, nothing helped, nothing changed and life was simply too hard.

As I made my way down the staircase at Arvada Senior High, it all suddenly became too much and I stopped right where I was and sat down. I was done. I didn't care how long I sat there. I didn't care if I was in anyone's way. I didn't care about anything at all.

It wasn't the first time despair had found a place to roost in my heart. The usual angst suffered by most adolescents was mine and then some, due to a tumultuous family of origin. Depression. I was prone to it then. It would stalk me by night and greet me at the beginning of each new day, frequently overwhelming me as it did on this particular day, between classes in my sophomore year.

A fellow student, making his way up the stairway, made eye contact and commented, "Smile. It gets better," or some such common encouragement. It was enough. I pulled myself up, shook off the despondency and made my way to my next class, the weight of the world lifted, at least temporarily, from my young shoulders.

I remember being grateful that someone had noticed me there and had felt compelled to speak that quick word of encouragement.

What happens when no one speaks? What happens when the words have grown powerless through overuse? What happens when we close the door on the world and don't allow anyone to enter in?

Depression. Despair. Despondency. These are burdens we aren't meant to carry. They are self-perpetuating. They grow. They feed on solitude and they feed one another, until, in some cases, they attain permanent residence in our souls. And they are a very real and present enemy in today's world.

They are part of a bigger lie. A lie that can take many forms, but usually has its origins in pride. The Little Engine that Could was a clever children's story, designed to inspire persistence and perseverance, admirable human qualities to be sure, but there is danger here. Because some things we cannot do. Comes a time when a man can no longer pull himself up by his bootstraps because the bootstraps have worn clear through.

Suddenly we realize the dreams we had when we were young and idealistic, when the whole of life was spread out before us like an all you can eat buffet, have, for most of us, spoiled on the table. Then the dark watches of the night are spent with the once unfamiliar face of regret. It is then we begin to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, a burden that was never ours to bear.

What are we supposed to do when we come to the end of ourselves, when all that is before us is the deep dark pit of despondency and despair?

Tragically, some find a permanent and fatal solution, proposed by the same Liar who placed the burdens there in the first place. Those that choose this permanent solution unwittingly burden the ones that love them with the same burdens of despondency and despair they themselves sought to escape.

A young child, burdened too young by her grandfather's suicide, wrote, in part, "I stayed inside as it rained, its been a month since you've been gone. I glanced out the window and (saw) a rainbow. I knew God was telling me that's its okay to move on. I listened to his wise words and they seemed to help me cope. But there was still something missing aboard my (life's) boat."

My last bout with debilitating depression took place more than 31 years ago, in front of a nine-inch television on a broken-down couch in a cheap one bedroom apartment in Wichita, Kan. What made the difference? When I came to the end of myself, I found someone willing to take on the burdens I had so willfully embraced. The burdens of sin. The burdens of regret. The burdens of lost dreams and false pride. He carried them away and removes again those that seek to return and roost again.

 "Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand?" Psalm 130:1-3 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Widow's weeds