It Takes a Village

MY CHILDREN WERE YOUNG, still solid believers in the North Pole, so all year long I’d put money into a Christmas Club account, hoping to make holiday shopping less stressful.

Santa was happy about that.

That year, my family was traveling to an Air Force base in Wichita, where my sister and her husband were stationed. I planned to shop when we got there rather than ride with three kids in a minivan full of gifts. The day before we left, I withdrew my Christmas money and additional travel cash and stuffed the envelope into the bottom of my purse.

I had a very big purse.

The next morning, my husband, Randy, left early for his half-day of work. Meanwhile, I took the children to our local Richie’s Hardware Store to purchase batteries for the toys I would buy later. At the counter, I pulled out my wallet and then, puzzled, I reached deep inside my purse.

The envelope wasn’t there.

The kids and I left Ritchie’s and retraced our steps, searching for it. Their faces told me they understood that Mommy was in trouble.

“Maybe the money fell out in Ritchie’s?” my son offered, hope alive in his sweet face.

Back at the hardware store, every aisle ended in disappointment. Myrtle Ritchie, one of the owners, quickly appeared, sensing that something was wrong. My parents were longtime patrons of Ritchie’s, and now, my husband and I were too. When things fell apart—the dryer broke or a bike tire went flat—we went up to Ritchie’s.

Myrtle would make it right.

I quietly confessed our Christmas plans and the money that I had lost. My children surrounded me in a silent circle, one held my hand, one patted my back, and the other looked up at Myrtle, certain she would fix it. She always did.

Instead, we went home with deflated hearts, the glow of Christmas lost in an envelope of cash. I was still searching the house, hoping for a miracle, when I opened the door to a knock. It was Myrtle, wondering if I’d found what I’d been looking for.

My sigh said it all.

“My husband and I want to give you money for your trip … and other expenses,” Myrtle whispered, glancing at the little ones behind me. She quickly explained that her three children were little once, just like mine, and Myrtle knew that some years the holidays can weigh heavily.

She’d been there before.

I hugged Myrtle hard but humbly declined her kindness, and when my husband arrived home, I confessed I had lost the money. But then, Randy pulled an envelope from his coat pocket, the one he slipped out of my purse that morning to gas up the van. I threw my arms around him, too overjoyed to be upset.

The children believed Myrtle made it happen.

My hometown Ritchie’s Hardware Store closed not many years later, as big box boys offered more than Myrtle could keep in stock. It was a loss for our community and changed our downtown.

Everyone said they never saw it coming.

Wherever you are, look around; the locally owned businesses are the folks who sponsor ball teams, donate to fundraisers, and step up to support a cause or a customer in need.

Believe me, I know.

This holiday season, seek out the little guys, those family-owned establishments and home-grown entrepreneurs who are hustling to make their dreams come true. Support them when you can and give them the chance to earn your business, so they can stay in business.

It takes a village to keep a village.

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This column was originally published in the November/December 2025 issue of Missouri Life.