The Power of Pink

A friend ‘s nephew writes a blog and I want to share  a recent one with you.   This one knocked my socks off and not just because I get the breast cancer/pink thing.  It’s so much more than that.  

Chip Bristol is the author and he writes under “Brushstrokes.” You can find him at   I hope you’ll find this essay as moving as I did.  Please take a look at some of his other writings, too. You’ll be glad you did.


By Chip Bristol

Things in this country are a mess. Regardless of how you see things, we can all agree that divisions abound, anger is everywhere, and people on all sides are acting like spoiled brats. After this week, I’ve had to watch less TV and look for other places for the spirit of a country I love.

Little did I know I’d find it on a cloudy morning, surrounded by hundreds of pink shirts. It was the annual Women’s Only 5K Run in honor of breast cancer research. Although I am comfortable with my feminine side and have my share of pink shirts, I could only stand as a spectator for this run, but my view gave me what my heart was longing for.

In a city that has its fair share of divisions, black women ran beside white. Strangers leaned in for selfies with those standing beside them. Members of St Andrew’s Episcopal Church ran with members of His Holiness Temple. A woman with a yarmulke cheered beside one wearing a hijab, and Republicans and Democrats held hands. It wasn’t a black or white event, a Christian or Jew. It wasn’t a red or blue event. It was pink.

The pink shirts came in all sizes, but there were two shades. The first, was for those who ran in support of someone they loved. The second was a darker shade, reserved for the survivors themselves. Runners nodded or reached out with reverence to touch the women with darker shirts. One runner had no hair, another had no breasts, one walked with a cane, and another rode in a wheelchair pushed by a friend, and yet each woman wearing the darker shade smiled with the joy that surrounded her on every side.

For a few hours, the world was a beautiful place, and, as I walked to my car, I watched a mother and young daughter walking ahead of me, each wearing a different shade of pink. Hand in hand, I could see strength being passed down, and offered back up. I could feel the power, and it was the mighty power of pink. May the world learn from, and find more of, this power.

Extra Credit:

Reach out to someone you know who’s been touched by breast cancer.

Do one thing this week to cross one of the countless divisions between you and another person.