Make me an instrument of your peace

I am thinking this morning of Pope Francis who died earlier today, who chose his name in honor of St Francis of Assisi. May he rest in heavenly peace. I am sharing the words of the prayer of St Francis here. Whatever your belief, these are words to live by:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.

I keep a tattered piece of paper tacked to the wall in front of my desk to remind me. We have everything we need. We are not alone. We need to keep coming back to being instruments of peace in this beautiful green place we call home. 

This is how the Pope lived. In a statement announcing his death, the Vatican said:

"He taught us to live the values ​​of the Gospel with fidelity, courage and universal love, especially in favour of the poorest and most marginalised."

If there is ever any doubt this is the right course -- if we are for one moment swayed by the nonsense which is overtaking America -- let us all come to our senses and remember this humility. 

* * * * *

In a side note, I should mention that he managed to come to the balcony at the Vatican yesterday in a wheelchair to greet the crowds and wish his brothers and sisters a happy Easter. We had our own Easter celebration in the garden, with five grandchildren, with dyed eggs and radishes, a tomato tart,  bundt cake and berries, under the magnolia tree who has surrendered her blooms, surrounded by tulips in pots and our first potted lilac. There were dogs trying desperately to grab chocolate dropped from the hands of small children, and the odd sausage that no-one would miss. Thistle, a thirteen year old Frenchie who grew up in Laurel Canyon, who can't see or hear very well, still has a fine sense of smell. She made her way to where the small children were picnicking on the lawn and surveyed the plates for her Easter feast. Sausages? No. Chicken drumsticks? No. A fully loaded toasted sesame bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon? Yes please. She carried it gently back to our table, gloating. "Oh you can tell she's an LA dog," said Kate. "An English one would've gone for the sausages." 

My mother joined us, pretty in a pink sweater and pink pearls. "How are you, Mamma?" I asked. "I'm in good company," she said. "The Pope and I in our wheelchairs, enjoying Easter."

The children and the whippet tore about the garden, shrieking. People were very kind about my collapsed Bundt (a rookie mistake, using an elaborate Christmas pan, replete with candles and fir trees, for an Easter loaf). "Is this the Bundt recovery hotline?" I said to my friend Jack who lives in Sag Harbor and offered me a most excellent almond and lemon cake recipe. "Honey, dip it in a hot bain-marie to save it" he offered. "If all else fails, glue the two pieces together with a lemon butter cream and smother the whole thing in whipped cream." I love him so very much. 

Recipe here. Would work just as well in a regular cake pan (also less margin for error).

Sending love to you wherever you are in the world.