The Gift of Kash

Sometimes, it’s hard to discern the path God has laid before us. The direction we should take and the reasons behind it are not always clear. When Mike and I first met, we shared a profound sense of abandonment that shaped our lives in unique ways.

Mike, adopted at birth by wonderful parents, always carried the subtle ache of a story that began with rejection. Adoption, for all its beauty and opportunity, is rooted in loss—a decision by someone not to keep you. Despite the love and care of his adoptive parents, that sense of rejection lingered.

My story of abandonment was different. My father chose not to raise my brother and me. Despite the strong father figure I had in my grandfather, the absence of my dad left me feeling discarded, not good enough, and unworthy.

Mike’s work as a Guardian ad Litem for the State of Minnesota brought him face-to-face with the heartbreaking stories of children who, like us, felt unwanted and abandoned. The caseload was staggering, and the stories of abuse and neglect were gut-wrenching. As a guardian, you learn to move on from many cases, but some children leave an indelible mark on your heart. For Mike, one of those children was Kash.

This past November, just days before Thanksgiving, Mike stopped at a local shop to pick up an order. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied, when he noticed the young man behind the counter. Something about the boy tugged at his heart. Their eyes met, and recognition sparked.

“Do I know you?” the young man asked hesitantly. “I feel like I know you… Are you Mike? I’m Kash. You probably don’t remember-”

“I do. I remember you very well,” Mike replied.

Kash stepped out from behind the counter and embraced Mike. “You saved me. You saved me,” he said through tears. Mike, too, was overcome with emotion.

“I remember you,” he said again, his voice steady but full of feeling. “I remember everything.”

Kash was only ten years old when Mike met him. A sweet, curious boy with a shy smile, Kash’s world had been shattered when he came home from school to find his mother dead from a drug overdose. He laid by his mom’s lifeless body until the Police came. His father, battling addiction, was in treatment, and Kash spent most of his time with his grandmother.

The state wanted to place Kash in foster care, deeming his father unfit and his grandmother too old. But Mike saw something different. He spent hours talking with Kash, his dad, and his grandmother. Their meetings often took place at McDonald’s, where Mike would listen to Kash’s hopes and fears over burgers and fries. He went out of his way to bring small joys into Kash’s life—a PlayStation no longer used by our kids, a pair of old basketball shoes from Savannah. Small acts of kindness that made a big impact.

Mike worked tirelessly to keep Kash with his family, advocating for his father’s progress in treatment and his grandmother’s steadfast love. He believed Kash needed stability, not another loss. When the case was reassigned, Mike lost track of Kash, though he often wondered what had become of him.

Now, standing face-to-face, he had his answer. Kash was thriving. He lived with his grandmother and father, just as Mike had recommended all those years ago. His dad was sober and employed, and Kash, now 18, was working part-time, preparing to graduate high school, and making plans for college.

It’s just one life, one story. But in many ways, it reflects the story of us all. Healing comes from tending to wounds with love, not deepening them with more pain. Parents don’t need to be perfect or wealthy to make a difference in a child’s life. They need to provide love, stability, and guidance.

 Let Kash’s story remind us of what truly matters. Our greatest gifts are not material things but acts of love, mercy, forgiveness, and service to others. Be grateful for the love that surrounds you, no matter how big or small. If Kash can find joy and hope in the face of loss, so can we all.

“Defend the poor and fatherless. Do Justice for those in need.”  Psalm 82:3

-Ann C. Tepoorten