I had a plan. At seventeen, I was ready to graduate high school and leave my small California town. I dreamed of playing golf and majoring in music at a dreamy Southern California campus where I’d auditioned and won a scholarship. I bought the sweatshirt. I knew my future was there.

But life happened. College is expensive, and my dream school wasn’t possible. The scholarships weren’t enough. I clung to false hope, telling everyone I was going, but as the enrollment deadline approached, I registered at my local community college instead. My friends scattered across the country, posting photos to the new platform called Facebook, while I stayed behind, commuting to campus and working at a local bookstore.

I had imagined college would be full of new faces and experiences, but everything was familiar. Life felt like a sequel where the plot hadn’t changed much. After all the anticipation, I was embarrassed. I dreamed of leaving while trying to accept where I was.

I kept attending my childhood church, and one day, a woman named Debbie invited me to a Tuesday night Bible study. The women there weren’t who I expected to spend time with — many had changed my diapers as a baby. Most were nearing retirement and thinking about their grandkids. On the surface, we had little in common, but I agreed to join them.

At first, I felt out of place. My biggest concerns — singleness, homework, and figuring out my future — seemed trivial compared to their life experiences. But week after week, these women welcomed me into Debbie’s farmhouse, fed me homemade snacks, and listened to my prayer requests. I cringe now at what used to worry me, but they never made me feel small.

I don’t remember much from my first year of college classes — only two even transferred to the school I later attended. But I remember sitting in Debbie’s living room, hearing stories of God’s faithfulness.

One evening, I said, “I know some of the things I talk about seem trivial.”

A kind-faced woman who had known me my whole life smiled and said, “You remind me of the passion I used to have, and it makes me remember those years so fondly.”

I had never considered that I might be contributing something. I assumed I was too young to fully connect. But God proved me wrong.

We often separate ourselves by generation or life season, but Scripture is full of intergenerational relationships. Ruth remained loyal to Naomi. Moses urged the Israelites to pass down God’s law. 1 Peter 5:5 says, “You who are younger, be subject to the elders” (ESV). Hebrews 13:7 encourages believers to “remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God.”

And discipleship isn’t one-sided. 1 Timothy 4:12 tells young people to set an example “in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity.” Jesus even says in Matthew 18:3, “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

We all have something to learn from each other.

For a long time, I thought church communities should be filled with people who looked and thought alike. But our differences are a gift. There is richness in different generations, cultures, and even denominational traditions. We unite around core truths — like the authority of Scripture and the resurrection of Jesus — but we don’t have to be spiritual clones.

Some wish we didn’t have so many denominations. But church history shows that as Christianity grew, believers needed clarity on foundational truths. Councils met, forming creeds like the Nicene and Apostles’ Creed. These outlined essentials of faith. Over time, disagreements on non-essential — like baptism practices or church leadership roles — led to different denominations. But that diversity doesn’t weaken the Church; it strengthens it.

Think of a church potluck. If everyone brought only potato salad or only macaroni and cheese, it wouldn’t be much of a feast. But when each person brings something different, the table is full. The Church is like that — a gathering of unique perspectives and traditions, united by Christ.

I eventually transferred to a school in Chicago for my second year of college. My transition was softened by notes and care packages from my Bible study friends. Even after I moved, they continued pouring into my life. Over a decade later, I still walk with them or join Bible study when I visit home. Last summer, they celebrated twenty-five years of opening God’s Word together in that little farmhouse, and it felt sacred to reunite, sing, and share how God has moved in our lives.

I wouldn’t be who I am without those women. Their wisdom has shaped me and pointed me to Jesus time and again. The ones I thought I had nothing in common with became my sisters. And it all started because God kept me in that small town for a season I hadn’t planned.

Imagine what I would have missed if I hadn’t accepted Debbie’s invitation. My life is richer because of those relationships, and even now, I still receive sweet texts from them, reminding me they’re praying for me.

So go ahead — sit with someone from a different generation, background, or tradition. You’ll both be better for it. And if you’re lucky, they might even feed you too.

By Melissa Zaldivar, adapted from her chapter in Come Sit with Me

Join the women of (in)courage and learn how to:

• Love through disagreements
• Delight in your differences
• Live with discomfort

This book will transform how you see the people around you and God in you.

Leave a Comment