The Language of Pink

Jane Ranzman Author
My Slip Was Pink-From Loss To Spiritual Growth

I always had a thing for pink. The color is soft and fluffy like cotton candy. Girly-girl and romantic. We’re trained to love it from our first little pink shoes to pink nightly. Pink tastes like the fairy icing on my birthday cakes, feels like warm baths with Mr. Bubbles, and smells like a fresh tube of baby doll lipstick.  I fondly remember many of the pink things that have made my life beautiful,

  • My pink tutu and ballet slippers that I wore every day for a full year when I was nine (even though I was a hopeless dancer)
  • Mother’s pink feather boa (that wasn’t just pulled out on Halloween)
  • My Barbie car
  • Magenta silk pumps that made me feel like a vixen
  • Pink drinks that end with a -tini
  • Monogramed stationary adorned with pink cupcakes
  • Matching pink sweetheart nails and toenails
  • Our pink poodle, Mr. Pierre. Mother spray-painted his tail for her Pink Fink Party. Everything was, what else, Pink!

The color has always made me feel happy. And bold. A “Jane” that was authentic and light. So it made sense that God started to talk to me in the “language of pink.” First, I was handed my pink slip. Then, I saw slips of pink paper everywhere.

For example, one  blue day, I found a tiny plastic pink heart in the cracked pavement of a New York City street.  Another morning, it was pouring rain. I was late for work and missed the elevator. Standing outside the building getting drenched, I was annoyed having to wait.By the time the next elevator came, it was packed. The dripping crowd pushed their way into the small space with soggy umbrellas, coats, bags, and all.

Staring at the ground. I noticed a pair of  smooth pink toe shoes pointed in “first position.” I looked up to see a young ballerina, around five years old. She was dressed from head to toe in a burst of pink— tutu, ballet shoes, tiara, and umbrella. Her mother cooed in the background, “Gemma dear, hold my hand.”  I blinked. Gemma is the name of the protagonist in “My Slip Was Pink.”  How could that be a coincidence?

I believe that a spiritual force communicated with me in an encouraging way. It seemed to urge me to continue this book, even when I was disheartened, as well as through many hardships. The worst of all was the loss of my mother. Even so, there was “pink” in the challenges and changes. I learned we can find  beauty and grace in the language of pink.

Looking back on my life, I understand, my Slip Was ‘Pink.’

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