On February 21st, I officiated Lora and Ed's wedding ceremony at Maggiano's in Plano, Texas. Here are the remarks I shared with them and their guests:

What Lora and Ed teach us is something both deeply countercultural and deeply comforting: that love does not have an expiration date, and it does not require urgency, drama, or reinvention to be real. Sometimes the truest love arrives quietly, when life has already been lived, lessons already learned, and priorities finally clarified.
 
Lora describes her life honestly, calling herself “a work-a-holic who was fortunate enough to have a beautiful child late in life.” That sentence alone tells us something important. Life does not unfold on a single schedule, and meaning does not arrive all at once. It comes in chapters. And when it comes late, it is no less sacred.
 
Ed, too, has lived a full life. He has built homes, raised sons, served a community, and quite literally helped create sacred space. He tells us that he built the ark that still holds the Torah at Adat Chaverim, and that both of his sons became Bar Mitzvah in front of it. That detail matters. It tells us that Ed is someone who builds things meant to last, not just structures, but foundations.
 
And then, in January of 2025, something remarkably simple happened.
 
They met at a restaurant after work.
 
No spectacle. No grand setup. Just two people sitting down at four o’clock in the afternoon.
 
Lora writes, “From the moment we sat down, the conversation just flowed, easy, comfortable. I remember thinking, ‘This feels different.’” She says being with Ed has always felt that way: “natural, peaceful, no pressure.” That’s not the language of infatuation. That’s the language of recognition.
 
Ed describes walking across an empty restaurant toward her and having what he calls “the strangest thoughts and emotions.” He says, “It was not love. It was not based on looks. I really do not know what it was based on, but I knew instantly that this was going to be different.” There is something deeply honest in that. Love does not always announce itself with fireworks. Sometimes it arrives as certainty without explanation.
 
By the third date, Ed told her he didn’t want to see anyone else. Lora’s response, characteristically understated, was simply, “OK.” And somehow, in that quiet exchange, a whole future clicked into place.
 
What we learn from them is that marriage, at this stage of life, is not about beginning from scratch. It is about choosing deliberately. Lora says it beautifully: “Getting married isn’t about starting over; it’s about choosing each other deliberately, with open eyes, open hearts, and deep gratitude.” That is wisdom earned, not imagined.
 
They are not here because they need each other to complete them. They are here because they know what matters now. They know the cost of time. Ed says it plainly: “I cannot go back in time to marry her. This is the first opportunity to marry her, and I am not going to delay.” That is not impatience. That is clarity.
 
And there is something else we learn from them, something especially sacred. This marriage does not only create a happy couple. It creates a family. Ed speaks tenderly about meeting Charlotte, calling her a “bonus child,” and reminding us that “a bonus is always good.” Lora and Ed show us that love expands. It makes room. It welcomes what life brings with gratitude rather than fear.
 
So what do we take from all of this?
 
We learn that love can be effortless without being shallow. That certainty does not require drama. That timing is not about age, but readiness. And that sometimes the most meaningful words in a love story are not poetic declarations, but simple ones: this feels different, I only want to date you, I’m ok with that.
 
Lora and Ed remind us that love is not about reclaiming youth, but about honoring the present. About walking forward together, side by side, celebrating the wins, holding hands through the hard times, and choosing each other every day, not out of need, but out of joy.
 
That is a lesson worth carrying with us.

On January 10th, I officiated Lexi and Luuk’s wedding ceremony at the Austin Proper Hotel, in Austin, Texas. Here are the remarks I shared with them and their guests:
 
Luuk and Lexi’s story begins, quite literally, at the edge of the world, two travelers from opposite sides of the planet who met not because of careful planning, but because life, for once, decided to be beautifully random. It was August in Sydney. He was the quiet, grounded Dutch engineer; she was the vibrant, fearless Texan designer. They met, and something clicked.
 
That night by the beach, around a bonfire, something extraordinary happened. Luuk, who had always been more comfortable fixing engines than speaking about feelings, opened up for the first time about his life. He says that with Lexi, he felt safe and understood. Lexi remembers the same night, the music, the firelight, the quiet between them, and thinking, this man feels like home.
 
Now, there are a few things we can learn from two people who build a relationship across oceans, time zones, and languages. First, that love is not for the faint of heart. Long-distance relationships don’t survive on luck; they survive on intention. On patience. On trust so steady that even seventeen hours apart, you still feel held.
 
When Lexi describes Luuk, she says he is her rock, her protector, the one who makes her feel safe and seen. He calls her his little dandelion, because no matter what life throws her way, she finds a way to grow through stone and still reach for the light.
 
And maybe that’s what makes this relationship so beautiful. They are opposites in the ways that matter most, and perfectly matched in all the ways that count. His calm steadiness meets her vibrant energy; his sense of order meets her sense of wonder. Together, they form a balance that neither could find alone.
 
They have traveled continents, built a bridge of love between Europe and America, and shown that home isn’t a place you find, it’s something you build, one act of devotion at a time.

Lexi and Luuk teach us that love is not about grand gestures or perfect timing. It’s about choosing each other, again and again, even when it’s hard, even when the world pulls you in different directions. It’s about believing that what connects two people can be stronger than anything that separates them.
 
So what do we learn from them? That love can cross oceans. That it can thrive on laughter, patience, and courage. And that sometimes, when you least expect it, someone appears, someone who makes your heart feel both calm and alive. Someone who makes you believe again in a love that is, as Lexi so beautifully put it, grounding and limitless.

On November 29th, I officiated Rebecca and Anik’s wedding ceremony at The Houstonian Hotel in the Meadow, in Houston, Texas. Here are the remarks I shared with them and their guests:
 
Some love stories begin with fireworks. Anik and Rebecca’s began with a long walk and the quiet certainty of two individuals finding home in one another. What can we learn from them?
 
1) Partnership over perfection
 
Anik says the quality he most cherishes in Rebecca is simple and profound: “She is kind and curious… the foundation on which our relationship is built. We’re both happy to admit fault and want to do better next time.” That’s not one person fixing the other; that’s two equals choosing humility over ego, progress over perfection.
 
2) Shared values, lived daily
 
They don’t just talk about love, care, and kindness—they live them. How? By keeping each other accountable to wake up erly in the morning to achieve their fitness goals and to spend quality time with Patches and with each other before the chaos of the world takes over. They start their day on firm ground of their values and continue to show up for each other and their amazing rescue dog, Patches.
 
3) Different roots, one direction
 
Anik grew up Hindu in Bangladesh; Rebecca’s Jewish, Venezuelan, and Russian threads are vividly woven into who she is. Rather than asking, “Whose way is right?” they keep asking, “What can we learn from each other?” That curiosity has given them a larger shared life—one table that holds many stories.
 
4) Best friends first
 
From the start, there was ease: being together while doing a lot—or doing very little—has always felt like time well spent. As Anik puts it, Rebecca is the person he trusts as his best friend: even when they disagree, he knows she will never root for anything that isn’t good for him. That’s what safety sounds like.
 
5) A covenant that fits
 
Anik has “always believed in the union of marriage… a promise to be there even when things get difficult.” Rebecca echoes him: they’re ready to “formalize our commitment… and give sacred expression to the life we’ve built.” After five years, this isn’t a leap; it’s the next solid step on a road they’ve been walking side by side.
 
And because they would want at least one tiny poetic flourish, I’ll borrow the line that first caught Rebecca’s eye under Anik’s photo from his backpacking trip to Peru before they met: lo esencial es invisible a los ojos—“the essential is invisible to the eyes.” The essential things—trust, patience, kindness, shared discipline at 5 a.m., and the decision to love bravely, without limits—are right here, between them.
 
Anik and Rebecca, may you keep choosing partnership over perfection, curiosity over certainty, and faithfulness over fickleness. Your backgrounds are different; your hearts, values, and dreams are completely aligned. That is why these past five years have stood the test of time—and why the years ahead will, too.