I have a cauldron, a very large, black, cast iron cauldron. I used to be able to squat down in it, but now, well . . .

I found it in the woods when I was wandering around my grandparents’ property at age 13. It seemed absolutely huge in the chilly autumn air, filled with cold water and decades of dead leaves. I claimed it right then and went to report my discovery.

Mama hired a couple of guys to bring it to the house. They rolled it, one moving his feet along the inside, sliding his hands along the lip around the rim and poking his backside out as a counter-weight while the other kept it balanced moving his hands in circles on its rusty, round underside. They rolled it to the crawl-space under the old green farmhouse.

It sat there 15 years until one morning, Mama called to say, “Your big ol’ pot has been stolen.” I hadn’t thought of it for years. “It’s OK though. The sheriff thinks he knows where it is. Someone has been stealing cast iron, and he’s seen that big thing sitting out in their front yard”!

So my cauldron came back to me. Over the years, it’s held pine cones, water hyacinths, small fires, and pebbles. Currently, it’s upside-down next to a camelia. I’ve dabbled in pagan rituals from time to time and I know powerful magic when I sit in it!

The real magic is that it connects me to people and a place which go back to before my time, to babies born in that house, including my mother, who are now gone. The cauldron is a holder of memory and a reminder of people who loved me into this world.

I hope this week finds you gladly remembering someone who loved you into being!

In wisdom and grace,

Rev. Ruth