White Stones in Our Hands
David R. Weiss – July 31, 2026

As I come around the corner into the third-floor hallway at Village Shores Senior Community, I’m carrying a fresh Pizza Luce pizza in one hand and in the other a cooler and bag with everything necessary for a picnic pizza lunch. “Aw, are you here to visit, Marguerite?”

The question, posed by one of the aides, is mostly rhetorical. Of course, I am. Almost every Wednesday. And, not to brag, but my wild shoulder length salt and pepper hair makes me a pretty distinct character on the third floor—probably in the entire building. Still, I say, “Yes.”  

Then I add as we walk down the hall partway together, “You know, she doesn’t know my name anymore, but she’s always happy to see me. She still knows me—just not by name.”

And, true to my word, Marguerite does light up when I enter her room. Upon seeing the pizza box, however, she becomes unsettled. “Well, now I’m in a tough spot,” she says. “You’ve just brought lunch, but I already ate mine a little bit ago.” It’s only 11:30, and I think that’s unlikely, but I quickly reassure her that if she already ate, we’ll just visit, and I’ll take the food home with me. She seems satisfied with that.

But ducking out into the hall, I ask the aide if she’s already eaten lunch. “Oh, no. The front desk let us know you were bringing her food. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast—and she just had a muffin then.” I rejoin Margeurite in the room, and as soon as I explain that she hasn’t eaten lunch, she relaxes. In fact, she relishes the pizza, enjoys the Diet Pepsi, and raves about the homemade cookie. We both earn Clean Plate awards.

We visit for a while more and then I get ready to leave. But before I go, I snap a selfie of us. I remark, somewhat sheepishly, “Marguerite, you always dress so much nicer than me, but at least today the orange in my shirt complements your orange jacket.” She smiles. By now, even if she’s forgotten my name, Marguerite knows my hair and my clothes run a bit … wild, while hers run just the opposite.

After the photo, I stand in front of her and take both hands. “Marguerite,” I say, “I am so thankful for your friendship all these years.” “And I am for yours, my dear.” (“My dear” is the closest she comes to my name anymore.) A few more words and then farewell.

As I walk down the hall toward the elevator, it hits me. Now, I am NOT a biblical literalist. I’m not really even Christian anymore. But sometimes the images still tug at me in powerful, evocative ways.

In Revelation 2:17, heaven is described as a place where God promises to give each person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to that person. And I am suddenly teary-eyed in the elevator, because it strikes me that Marguerite knows me this way. She doesn’t know my name. Only that I am among the saints alongside her. And it is enough to put a bright smile on her face every time she sees me.

I still know her as Marguerite, but she’s closer to heaven these days than I am. And names are optional for her. She knows people by heart. Next time I say good-bye, I’m going to pay close attention. Because I bet, as we hold hands in farewell, I’ll feel those white stones in each of our palms—her stone and mine. Names written by love. Known by heart. Spoken only by smile.

I am so blessed.

***

David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, “writing into the whirlwind” of contemporary challenges, joys, and sorrows around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, peace, and family. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in Writing into the Whirlwind at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.