LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.

LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.
“Brother is crying. I get mad. I yell. Sister is crying now. The sneakers I tripped over at bedtime have somehow separated and one is completely gone. Vaporized! EFFFFF!!!! We are now 10 minutes late. ‘Why is this room like this?!’ I yell at the top of my lungs. I carry this anger for the rest of the day.”
“Mama, watch your ‘cant’s’ in front of your children, they’re listening and so much of what they learn is caught, not taught.”
“As I walked in the house from an epic Target Christmas run, my 6-year-old nearly tackled me. ‘Did you get me anything?,’ she screamed with excitement. ‘I really want it now! I’ve been so good today!’ I gently reminded her she loves surprises. ‘Please mama! I can’t wait anymore.’ I whispered, ‘Trust me. It will be so much better on Christmas. You will be so glad you waited!’”
“I kissed, hugged and squeezed him, laughing and crying, in shock. The crazy thing about it is that even though our marriage was always hard – he was abusive and constantly tormented by his own mind – I loved him. I still do.”
“My two-year-old was asking for bubble gum and chocolate bars. Without missing a beat, the man behind me in line handed the cashier his card. ‘I’ve got it.’ He said. My friend at the cash register was near tears by the end of her shift. I won’t ever forget that day and I doubt she has either.”
“Basically, my car was too dirty to go to a car wash. I chose the vacuums as far away from other people as humanly possible, sure no one would notice the avalanche of crap about to fall out of my passenger side door. I was so very wrong. Up pulled a man in a light blue, flawless car.”
“I posted our most recent family photos, and the comments poured in about how ‘perfect’ my family was. I knew things needed to change. I didn’t want people to just like my photos, I wanted them to like me, all of me—even the painful, grieving parts. I am a child who was abused by her father at 3 years old. A teenager who was the victim of statutory rape. I found my husband unresponsive on the floor with a failing heart.”
“I just found this picture behind another photo in a frame and I’ve unearthed a memory. I see young me, about 3 weeks into my mom journey. I couldn’t possibly have known. And I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Christmas? Forget it. It’s not for me. I like the quiet. For a girl like me, holidays are overwhelming. But my mom loves to decorate. She puts up 5 Christmas trees. She goes all out. She begged me to go outside with her to look at them. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t care less. Just then it hit me. She cares. It’s important to her.”
“As I sat staring at the tree, silently pleading with God for direction, my doorbell rang. I made my way to the door, opened it and looked out – no one stood there. I looked down. To my surprise on the porch sat a glass jar piggy bank full of money. I read the card and started to cry. In a child’s handwriting, scribbled on a makeshift card, read the most beautiful little words.”
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