Sometimes the Bible feels like it was written specifically for family reunions.

Take Jesus’ parable of the two sons in Matthew 21. A father asks his sons to go work in the vineyard. One says, “Nope.” Later, he changes his mind and goes. The other says, “Sure, Dad!” but never actually goes.

It’s a short story with a very familiar family dynamic. Because families are complicated. My family recently got a reminder of just how complicated—and how precious—family can be.

My mom fell. Not a graceful little stumble. She fell, hit her head, rolled down a hill, and broke her hip. Because apparently falling down was not enough. She needed to add a little momentum.

At the hospital, while everyone was dealing with the broken hip and the head injury, doctors discovered something else: some lesions on her liver. And suddenly, the family conversation changed. There are no easy answers when the unknown enters the room. There are questions. There are tears. There are logistics. There are conversations you never expected to have.

And there is love. A lot of love. The kind of love that shows up in hospital rooms. The kind that makes phone calls and sends texts. The kind that sits quietly. The kind that brings food. The kind that laughs at inappropriate moments because sometimes laughter is the only thing keeping everyone from completely falling apart.

Which brings me back to the two sons. I suspect Jesus knew something about families. The first son says no, but eventually shows up. The second son says yes, but doesn’t. Jesus isn’t particularly interested in which son sounded better. He is interested in what they actually do.

Families teach us that words matter—but showing up matters too. And sometimes showing up doesn’t look particularly holy. Sometimes it looks like helping Mom get settled in a hospital bed. Sometimes it looks like arguing over who remembered what the doctor said. Sometimes it looks like eating vending-machine crackers for dinner.

And sometimes, inexplicably, it looks like the Electric Slide. Yes. The Electric Slide. Because somewhere in the middle of all the medical uncertainty, family gathered. And at some point, music started playing, people started moving, and suddenly we were doing the Electric Slide. (Note: We have always been a family that dances the Electric Slide together.)

In a moment when everything felt heavy, there was laughter. Step. Step. Kick. Kick. Step. Step. Kick. Kick. Honestly, I’m not sure the Electric Slide has ever been a particularly theological dance. But maybe it should be.

Because faith is often about moving together when you don’t know exactly where you’re going. It is about showing up. It is about turning toward one another.

It is about love that doesn’t require perfect words or perfect circumstances. The two sons in the parable remind us that what we do matters. My mom’s fall reminded us that life can change in an instant. And the Electric Slide reminded us that even in the middle of hard things, we can still laugh, move, connect, and love one another.

Sometimes the kingdom of God looks like a vineyard. Sometimes it looks like a hospital room. And sometimes it looks like your family, slightly off-beat, doing the Electric Slide together.

Artwork by Jordan Mesenbourg