Christopher, as your older sister, I feel the need to impose my opinion and advice-uncolicited, as usual, but that won’t stop me-just once more before you tie the knot. Please, remember these words forever and don’t try to disagree, because as your older sister, I am always right!

First, my opinion. The pride I feel for you is immense. You have grown up into a stunningly fine person-marked by keen and unusual intelligence, an observant and discerning eye, whether for art or people, many talents, which you use to enrich your life and the lives of those around you, and a deep and rare loyalty to ideals and people you love.

As an adult, happily, you retain the qualities that you possessed as a child--curiosity, integrity, wit, creativity, independence, refusal to accept the ordinary.

In choosing your wife, you have called upon these qualities to select Rachel-an extraordinary person, a soul mate, and your true equal, in every way.

Rachel makes your shine even brighter, your mind even quicker, your laugh even warmer, and your smile even wider.

Next, my advice. Treat Rachel gently and with much kindness, as you have always done from the start. Remain in awe of Rachel’s beauty, myriad talents, depth of personality, and strength of character. Remain grateful for what your life together is and excited for what it surely will become.

And last, my wishes. May you always feel in your marriage as well-loved, safe, cherished, and comfortable as you do now, and may you always make Rachel feel the same and more. May you both draw on your families as an ongoing source of support and reassurance. May every day of your marriage to Rachel be even 1,000 times happier than you both feel today. May you fall in love with Rachel again and again during the rest of your life together.

Your older sister is very proud of you today.

Say it is a Saturday afternoon, mid-afternoon, at a church in the center of the city of Berkeley; at the head of the church, in front of the altar, stand a man and a woman, bride and groom, in front of a large audience of family and friends;

say, that this is no ordinary church; that this church is in fact the masterpiece of an architect whose work is now considered some of the most important of the 20th century, and who is also identified closely with this area-an area in which the bride and groom both grew up, and think of as home; say too that the architect is considered to have been the most prominent figure in the movement termed "romantic eclecticism," a phrase which may have some application to this day as well; and that into this space has come the music of a cello, a Bach suite whose soaring and clear melodies evoke an almost magical sense of harmony;

then say, as well, that it is winter; that the sunlight which angles through the windows-for it is sunny, say that, an almost cloudless day-that this light, in this season, is known for its clarity; and that the late afternoon sun, in all seasons in these parts, is known for the manner in which it glazes all that it touches; say too that while it is true that many, even most weddings, take place in the summer, that it is now, in the winter, when it is most possible to see line and shape and form; only at this time of year, for example, is it possible to see the purity of the design of the exterior of the church itself, its lines often hidden behind the vines of its trellises; in winter, one sees what lies at the core of the world’s forms, and can also anticipate the coming of spring, and the eventual bounties of summer and the fall harvest;

and say also that this bride and groom are two remarkable people; two who, as they make their way through the world, draw others to them, which is of course one reason for the size of the group which has come here to join them;

then say further that the groom is one of your oldest friends, the bride one of your most treasured new ones; say you have visited them on both coasts, in the city and by the sea, and that each time there has been laughter, and the kind of serious conversation you return to when you are not together; that these two are the kind of people you always want to introduce to all your other friends, something you have determined over time isan indirect marker of your esteem;

but say also, because otherwise you may start to sound a bit hyperbolic, that these two are not perfect-–each has foibles, for instance he has a reputation for being a little stubborn, and she could be said at times to be somewhat finicky–and neither of them is known for punctuality–and that, to be honest, these little idiosyncrasies are comforting, for perfection is hard to love without reservation; it’s the little imperfections which keep us human, and make our human love possible;

and then say also that the groom is someone for whom you have always wished the best (‘always’ here taken to mean always after about age ten, before which you sometimes wished ill on him at times such as when he would fabricate rules with which to question–at now legendary length–your obvious victories in the games of one-on-one touch football you somehow managed to play along the narrow street where you grew up-–-one-on-one touch football being a game, it might be added, which requires both patience and i magination, at least one of which the groom is known for); you have also always wished only good things for the bride, and these feelings have been unmitigated by any past sporting encounters; though you could imagine that the bride might engage in similar dissections of esoteric rulebook phrases, should the occasion arise–still this does nothing to dampen your wishes; in fact, there is nothing which mitigates your wishes for either one of them at this point–and, in your wishing, you could not have wished them better partners than they have found in the other: joyful, complimentary, challenging (in the right ways) people–and people who, furthermore, once joined, have remained themselves, have found a union to which they give nothing which seems contrived, invented, or dishonest, and one which seems to come fully from the vital individuals they were before they met;

say, all this; say you are fortunate enough to have said all this; if so, then stop; observe this couple; this church; these guests; this winter light as it bends in through the windows; these are moments of rare beauty, and you will wish to have observed this union fully–this union of nature, of the fine craft of human hands, and, within this setting, of the even more wonderful, intangible craft of human hearts;

say, now, no more (you have likely said too much already); stop, and attend to what lies before you.