This weekend I had the honor of officiating my first wedding. And not just any wedding — a “surprise” wedding at the Music Yard for two dear people, Emma Way and Joe Schindel. I’ve worked with Emma for the better part of the past decade, first at Charlotte magazine and then at Charlotte Agenda and Axios. She’s always been up for an adventure, and Saturday’s wedding was certainly another one.
They worked on the scheme for nearly a year. I was the only person they told until recently. They asked me to officiate back in May. It was an honor and a burden — I’m terrible at keeping secrets. I managed by avoiding mutual friends all summer.
Meanwhile, Joe told their friends and family that he was proposing to Emma on Saturday, and that he was throwing her a surprise engagement party. People came from as far away as France and Guatemala. Emma played clueless and shocked when they arrived, then she took the microphone and let the crowd of about 100 people in on the big reveal: “You’re not at our engagement party. You’re at our wedding.”
Then they changed, and I changed. Their families walked down the aisle, then Emma walked down, and I said this:
Good afternoon, good people!
On behalf of Emma and Joe, I want to welcome you to this beautiful surprise, with these two beautiful people, their beautiful families, on this beautiful day for manipulating and shocking the people who matter most.
I’ve had the fortune and misfortune of holding this secret for about five months, and if I have two wishes for today, the first would be that you have a long and happy and prosperous marriage, and the second would be that I never have to keep a secret again.
But we’re here! To celebrate one of life’s grand occasions. It’s fitting that this is a surprise. Because what is love, if not one of life’s grandest surprises? It sneaks up on you. At a grocery store, or a restaurant, or a movie theater … or in my case, at a concert. I’d be a fool to hold a microphone at a wedding and acknowledge my wife, who’s over there, and say: I love you, Laura.
For Emma and Joe, though, it snuck up on you one Thanksgiving weekend in Santa Marta, Colombia, amid a robbery attempt.
So cliche.
For those who don’t know, Emma had a solo trip planned to Colombia. About two weeks before she took off, Joe booked a flight too. He’d lived there for a month in 2019, teaching yoga forming “Joe’s Dogma,” his personal rules for a good life.
He was living by those rules when he met Emma a couple of years later, first in the comments on a Charlotte Agenda post. Emma worked there. Joe was a “reply-guy.” It worked.
After a few months of dating, they landed in Colombia. One night, someone tried to steal Emma’s phone. They scrambled through the crowded streets, a dizzy couple on the run in the dark, before making it back to their place.
When they shut the door, Emma blurted, “I love you” for the first time. And, of course, Joe said it back.
From there, you were inseparable. Commitment brought clarity. Emma, I’d never seen you so sure of anything. Joe, you knew she was your one. Today is your day to bask … in the clarity and comfort of each other … under the loving eyes of friends and family … and in the promise of what’s ahead of you.
Last night I had the honor of eating dinner with you and your closest family members, and I watched them cycle from stunned to logistics to smiles. Through the shock I sensed a universal admiration for you two, and what you have. You are now an example for others. That’s a gift — and a responsibility.
As part of this secret charade, I asked Emma and Joe to separately list five things they couldn’t compromise on. Then we met individually to go over them. The goal was to form a constitution for their marriage, something to return to if ever they need it.
Now, the whole exercise might’ve seemed, on the surface, like an act of selfishness. But it’s not. It’s actually an act of generosity to your partner. A lot will change in your lifetime together. Your looks will change. Your hair color will change. Your actions will change. Your home will change. And your idea of family will change. Logistics will be more challenging. And trust me, decisions will only get larger.
But by holding true to your values, you hold true to the values that your partner fell in love with in the first place. Yes, sometimes selfishness is selflessness. And you two — both pleasers and fixers — need to remember that.
Let me start with Joe. Joe. My guy. A lovestruck Romeo. A hopeful romantic, from my own part of the world, Southern Maryland, a place that doesn’t produce a lot of hopeful romantics. You’re a planner, an organizer, a comforter, and someone who builds an entire camp at Burning Man for dozens of your closest friends. And yet, you still haven’t put up that towel rack in the bathroom that Emma’s been asking you to put up for a year. I’d like you to do that, sooner than later.
Joe, through this process I’ve been able to see how you think, how you analyze, and how you approach people in this life. You make people around you better. You’re the type of person who sees someone standing by themselves at a party and you go up to them to make them feel less alone. Don’t lose that. Emma loves that.
Your non-negotiables: a relationship built on intention, not autopilot. Balance. Consistency. Trust. And reflection. Don’t lose those either. Emma loves those.
Now, Emma. Emma, I’ve known you since you were barely old enough to drink. I’ll never forget when you sat across from me as an intern at Charlotte magazine and showed me your clips, and shared your vision for your career. After just one or two assignments, I told you: Emma Way, you could be my boss one day.
And damned if that didn’t happen, about six years later. I don’t think either of us was completely comfortable when you gave me a performance review, but know this: The pride I felt in that moment far exceeded any awkwardness.
And the pride I felt in that moment is exceeded, exponentially, by the pride I feel right now. You’ve grown from a brilliant and ambitious intern into a thriving and balanced adult — the kind of person I hope my own boys grow up and meet one day. You are generous, witty, sharp, and still brilliant … and far tougher than you give yourself credit for. You are made in the image of your grandmother Mousie, who never suffered a fool. You carry her wildflower spirit, and I promise you if she were here she’d be prouder than hell. Don’t lose the parts of her that make you, you.
Your list of non-negotiables looked a lot like Joe’s: shared admiration, positive intentions, leaning on each other in hard times, equity, and remembering that life together is supposed to be fun. Don’t lose any of that.
It delighted me that your immoveable forces were so similar.
So, as someone who was ordained on the internet just last week, I’m honored to bless this marriage.
From here, you should make it yours. Make it whatever works for you two — and nobody else. Marriage is your shield and your sword against the world. It puts Joe’s lyrics together with Emma’s melody, and vice versa. This is your family now. Cherish it. Put it above all else. On good days, ride the wind. On bad days, dig for gratitude. Find it anywhere you can.
You are two people who’ve traveled the world to make it feel smaller. Now have something small — this wedding, this marriage, this pinpoint in time — that will mushroom into something far larger.
Love and marriage are living, breathing things. They grow and evolve with time. Love is the great contagion. And at its best, a wedding is a superspreader event. Your love now lives with each person here, and it’s a reminder that nothing on this earth has ever outlived it.
Thank you for inviting us into your love — not only a love for each other but a love for life itself.
Now, like I said, I’m not ordained in any denomination, and I’m not all that religious. But I do follow the gospel of the late poet Mary Oliver, who once wrote out a simple set of rules for living a good life. Three little things that fit you two perfectly.
Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.
Amen.