I remember visiting my Grandmother, Ossie Mae when I was young girl. She was a jolly woman, with a sweet spirit very much like Mrs. Santa Claus. I remember the sound of her voice. It always ended on a high note with a mixture of expectation and enthusiasm as though she was happy to see you. Which she probably was, but she was always happy. It was just the way she was all the time. Her voice was controlled by grace and stayed in a sweet spot. I can hear her saying my name right now, ” Sherina...”
I remember sitting with her in the kitchen while she cooked a meal. Her kitchen table area was filled with plants all over the walls. Devil’s Ivy, Mother in law’s Tongue, aloe plants, wandering jew just to name a few in hanging baskets literally all over the wall. Because of the large windows she had in the kitchen, we were able to receive so much of God’s glorious sunlight in that space, and so did all of her plants. It was not only beautiful, but it was a warm, toasty inviting space especially with her presence. As everyone does and everything else, with the passing of time, her body could no longer hold her spirit, and she passed away. I was heart broken, but I found peace because she “died how she lived, and lived how she died” she was at peace and forever alive in me.
I remember going back to her kitchen and snipping away a pieces of each of her plants to root them and put them in my kitchen. I wanted to have her near me, to keep her green and growing in my life. Just like before with the passing of time, the plants stopped growing, and I could not figure out why. Those were Grandma Ossie’s plants, and I wanted them to thrive. One of my Great Aunt’s said, “They are pot bound. There is no enough space for the roots to grow in the pot. They need to be re-potting, into a pot a little larger, then they will start to grow again because the roots will have space.
My Grandma Ossie was a lively woman, and so eager to live. She was not defined by her age, only by her purpose. She was so alive, that she even surprised all of us when she fell in love and got re-married in her 80’s! My Grandma Ossie was not pot bound. No Mam, and No Sir!
Now as I have grown into a woman, I know that more important than her plants, Grandma Ossie would not want ME to be pot-bound. When I stop growing and no longer live up to my full potential, it breeds jealousy, anger, insecurity, and resentment in me. These feelings have caused me to ask myself these questions more than once. “Have you stopped growing? Sherina, have you, yourself become pot-bound?” And them my spirit respond with a a dream that is larger than life, making the answer more obvious than a whispered response. Now, I have the same question for you? Are you pot-bound?