The God of slumber parties

I love women. Really. The word swell comes to mind.  And I think it quite accurately describes how they see  God with a swelling sense of possibility and wonder. And tonight, that God is a God of slumber parties.After a stiff-backed ride on the Vespa (look ma, up to 60mph), I found my way to Regulator Bookshop in Durham, North Carolina - yet another consolation for leaving the beloved Bay Area of California. Tonight, writer Enuma Okoro was reading from her simple, stirring, and somewhat saucy memoir The Reluctant Pilgrim: A Moody, Somewhat, Self-Indulgent, Introvert's Search for Spiritual Community (Upper Room, 2010).Baptized into the Catholic Church at age 4, Okoro was hoarding crucifixes in her drawer by age 7. Little girls, it seems, have a unique wisdom in their floppy faith. Her curiosity spilled over into graduate school at Duke Divinity (my current home) and a position at its Center for Writing, Theology, and Media.But it's not the signposts of her journey that will stick with me. It's her commitment to the necessity of female friendships - or the hokier sisterhood, if you prefer - that leads her to believe in a God of slumber parties. A God who gave Naomi to Ruth and Elizabeth to Mary as a testament to the radically simple notion that women need women. Not just men. Not just babies. Not just a damn good job or a damn fine pedicure.It's metaphors like this - and the brave women who speak them - that are lacking in the church. God is not just a father, just a coach , or just a fighter...unless, of course, we're talking about a pillow fighter. Let the feathers reign down.