How I Accidentally Became a Wedding Officiant

Long before this became The River Runs Through, when it was simply twenty-nine acres, an old farmhouse, and a dream, I had already decided this was going to be a place where people gathered.

Some people dream about gardens.

Some dream about horses.

Apparently, I dreamed about weddings.

I've always been fascinated by them.

The dresses.

The flowers.

The invitations.

The table settings.

The old barns transformed into magical reception spaces.

The traditions.

The symbolism.

The promises.

That's a rather long list, which probably tells you two things.

First, I really do love weddings.

Second, planning my own weddings (yes...there were two!) was something I genuinely enjoyed. There aren't many perks to getting married twice, but getting to plan two weddings may actually be one of them.

Somewhere between deciding to move to this beautiful old farm and actually getting here, I decided I should become a wedding officiant.

Looking back, this was an interesting decision considering we hadn't renovated a thing.

The farmhouse needed work.

The barn needed work.

The property needed work.

Everything needed work.

Apparently none of that mattered.

In my mind, people were already getting married here.

Becoming an officiant turned out to be remarkably easy.

I found a website.

Filled out a form.

Paid a small fee.

And just like that...

Apparently I was qualified to marry people.

Looking back, that seems slightly terrifying.

For years, I received cheerful emails congratulating me on my career as an officiant.

The only problem?

I had never officiated a wedding.

Then we moved to Maine, and life became consumed with taking apart an old farmhouse and somehow putting it back together again.

The officiant idea quietly disappeared into the background.

Two years later, my daughter was married here on the property, in our north-facing thicket overlooking the pond.

It was beautiful.

And no...she did not want me to officiate.

Fair enough.

Instead, I enthusiastically volunteered for what felt like every other job.

If you've ever found yourself saying, "I can do that!" twenty times more than was reasonable, you'll understand exactly how that wedding went.

It was wonderful.

It was exhausting.

And somehow, everything came together.

Two years later - something happened that still feels a little magical.

Late one August afternoon, I signed up for my first shamanic training.

I was amazed the training was only fifteen minutes from our home.

I completed my registration.

Almost immediately, my phone rang.

Maybe the two events aren't connected.

But they've never felt separate to me.

It was my oldest son.

Which, in itself, felt like a small miracle.

I hadn't heard from him in months.

My first words weren't even "hello."

They were, "Are you calling because tomorrow is my birthday?"

He laughed.

"No, Mom..."

Then he hesitated.

"So...Alyssa is here."

Alyssa?

The woman from France he'd been engaged to for two years?

The woman I'd never met?

A quiet voice came on the phone.

"Hi."

I was still trying to catch up when my son said,

"We're getting married in September, and we'd like you to marry us."

September?

As in...next month?

Without missing a beat, I answered,

"Absolutely!"

Then my practical brain caught up.

Where?

When?

How exactly does one officiate their first wedding?

And perhaps most importantly...

"You will answer your phone when I call you back, right?"

He laughed.

"Yes, Mom. I'll answer."

(Parents everywhere understand why that reassurance mattered.)

The weeks that followed were some of my favorite I've ever spent.

Writing the ceremony.

Researching traditions.

Talking with my son and my soon-to-be daughter-in-law about what they wanted their ceremony to feel like.

Choosing flowers.

Finding the cake.

Hiring a private chef.

Watching all the little pieces come together.

On September 28, 2024, I officiated my very first wedding.

Standing there, watching my son and my new daughter-in-law make their promises to one another, something quietly settled inside me.

I loved every part of it.

Not just standing at the front.

Creating something deeply personal.

Helping tell their story.

Marking one of life's great thresholds with intention.

When I look back now, I don't think becoming an officiant began the day I filled out that online form.

I think it began much earlier.

With a dream about this farm.

With an unexpected fascination for weddings.

With a quiet pull toward ceremony that I didn't yet have words for.

Over the past two years, my shamanic studies have taught me that ceremony is how we honor life's important transitions.

A wedding.

Welcoming a child.

Renewing vows.

Celebrating a life that has ended.

These moments deserve more than simply passing by.

They deserve to be witnessed.

To be honored.

To be remembered.

Maybe it was all a coincidence.

Or maybe Spirit has a wonderfully subtle way of working.

Looking back, I don't think I was given a map.

I was given breadcrumbs.

A dream.

A farm.

An online ordination I almost forgot about.

A phone call that felt like a miracle.

And a son who asked me to do something I didn't yet realize I had been preparing for all along.

Sometimes our calling doesn't arrive all at once.

Sometimes we only recognize it when we turn around and see the path that has quietly been unfolding beneath our feet.