Ever since I can remember, I’ve been interested in the moments that mark a change in people’s lives.

One summer, when I was little, I saw my first wedding. I’d been playing on the beach with my family when I noticed a small gathering by the water. While my brother and sisters kept swimming, I stood at the edge of the ceremony, still covered in sand, completely absorbed by what was happening.

I didn’t think much about it again until years later, when I was living and working in rural Kenya. I knew I was ready to come home to Australia, and after years working in social work and community services, I was looking for something that would sit alongside that work. Becoming a celebrant somehow made sense.

More than 300 weddings later, it still does.

If anything, experience has made me less interested in what a wedding ceremony is supposed to be. There is no particular formula for getting it right. Some are funny and loose, others are quiet and emotional. Some couples want to tell their whole story, others would rather I absolutely did not.

What matters to me is that it feels like you.

My job is to get to know you well enough to find the right words, without putting words in your mouth. To tell your story without turning it into something it isn’t. And to hold the ceremony with enough confidence that, when the day comes, you don’t have to think about any of it.

I think there is something pretty great about a wedding ceremony when you strip away everything it is meant to be. You gather the people you love, stand beside the person you’ve chosen, and take a moment to acknowledge what you’re doing and why.

Maybe that’s what kept me standing on the beach all those years ago.
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(Home page images by Jack Henry and Blaise Bell)