Making peace....with pink

For as far back as I can remember, I have been a died-in-the-wool tomboy.  Riding bikes in the mud, exploring the woods, and always wearing my favorite "Toughskin" jeans with patches on the knees that I would proudly wear through as fast as I could.  On the rare occasions that I did wear a dress to school - like picture day, I always wore shorts underneath so I could have the assurance that no matter what situation presented itself, I would never be caught off guard.  I would always be able to run fast, climb trees and ride bikes regardless of clothing - it became a kind of personal life creed. 

As I made the transition from childhood into teenage years, my personal tomboy creed, something akin to the Boy Scout motto of always be prepared - do it for yourself, kept me from being able to feel comfortable growing up into the female body that nature was determined I should have - whether I wanted it or not. 

I found it very difficult to allow myself to "become" feminine and so I didn't.  I stubbornly held on to my tomboy ways. I did graduate from "Toughskins" to Levi's.  I never wore skirts or dresses so the shorts underneath were no longer necessary.  I could not find anything appealing in becoming a woman and I hated feeling awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin which betrayed me by protruding and curving in places that I wished it would not.  So, I simply dissected anything feminine from my identity and neatly put it away into a corner of my heart to (never) be explored later. 

As the years went by, I found that I seldom had any need for femininity, no; being tough and strong was for me, that was my identity.  My favorite color was red.  Somehow I came to detest the color pink.  Pink was for Barbie dolls, pink was for little girls in frilly dresses, pink was nauseatingly feminine.  Pink was not for me.  I scoffed when pink camouflage with rhinestones became a popular girls' outfit.  I thought, "I wouldn't be caught dead in that - what a joke!"

I could never have known though just how much my tomboy heart would carry me through my toughest years; as a teenager surviving my parents divorce and my own subsequent isolation and lonliness in the after math.  In my adult years through my own rocky marriage and divorce.  It came in wildly handy as I parented my two boys alone from early toddler days into their own teenage years.  No, I had never, ever had a need to be feminine, nope, not me.  My tomboy identity was tattooed to me as tightly as a second skin.  A skin I was very comfortable in.  I would never be weak, never be helpless, never be in need of being rescued, no, not me, never.

Identity is a curious word, so much is tied up in how we define ourselves.  And just about the time you think you have it all together, all your insecurities are firmly covered up and stuffed down so deeply that they almost don't exist, then out of the blue - or pink, your cover is blown....

One of my greatest loves is shopping at flea markets, I love looking for discarded treasure to carry home. On one such excursion, I came across an incomplete set of china dishes.  They looked like something mod-vintage from the 1960's with their charming flower pattern in the center and a thick band of pink around the outside of each dish.  In some way I will never be able to explain, I was absolutely drawn to these dishes.  I looked them over puzzled at being unexplainably drawn to them.  I promptly walked away, yet over and over again I came back by that table, each time mentally scolding myself for even considering making such a ridiculous purchase.  What on earth would a tomboy like me do with an incomplete set of china and with pink on them at that!  In the end though, the dishes sung their siren song to me and I could not ignore them. I could not make myself resist purchasing them.  The sales person double wrapped them in paper thankfully, and put them in a shopping bag so that my purchase would not betray me outwardly. 

Somehow in a way that only God knows, my core belief system had already begun to change ever so slightly.  I began to entertain the possibility that being feminine was not as detestible as I thought it was.  The next thing I knew, I found myself wearing skirts occassionally, in place of shorts during the blazing heat of our Texas summers.  A few dresses even made their way into my closet after I reasoned with myself that I was not betraying my tomboy-ness, I was just adding some easy work clothing options to my wardrobe. 

In the quietness one solitary afternoon, I was having an intimate coversation with the Lord, we were discussing the fact that my boys, our boys were nearly men.  How had that happened so quickly?  I could not fathom a life that did not have the associated identity of mom at the top of my list of things that defined me.  Ever so quietly and tenderly, He whispered to me, "Pink represents innocence."  I replied, "Well what does that have to do with anything?"  As soon as I had that thought, I recalled a particular scene from my childhood where my innocence as a child was lost through my mother's inability to care for me in the way that a mother should be able to care for her child.  That memory had marked a turning point for me; I knew I was on my own and would need to take care of myself from that point on.  Somehow in my child's mind, pink had become the target for emotions I could not express and feelings I could not understand.  But God did understand, and God knew my heart needed to grieve this particular loss.  He also wanted to give to my adult life the gift of being feminine.  He knew I was ready to allow femininity to become a part of my identity.  It seemed that my life was reflected somehow in that set of pink china dishes - incomplete. 

I find it beyond amazing that as I enter into my middle age years, that the God I love has turned back the time clock for me.  I have more joy and youth today than I ever did as a child and young adult.  My heart is lighter and freer than it has ever been before.  Life is to me a journey of the heart and I love that with God, my heart is truly safe. 

So, poor color pink, I have to apologize to you for hating you all these years.  It was not your fault, it wasn't even personal really.  I see you now in the fullness of your beauty.  I see you in the precious blush of tiny child, I see you in all your wonder in the flowers that grow in spring and summer, I see you in all your glory stealing across the sky during sunrise and sunset.  I see you now as beautiful - thank you for revealing yourself to me.  I am thankful that you have become a part of me - an accepted part of me.