Steven Bradshaw

Tag: christianity

  • My Favorite Psalms

    “Songs for Every Season of the Soul”

    We’ve started a new sermon series called My Favorite Psalms — and I’ll be honest with you: that’s not just a clever title. These are psalms that have shaped my life. They’ve given me words when I didn’t know what to pray. They’ve lifted my head when I was discouraged. They’ve challenged me when I got comfortable.

    The book of Psalms is a gift from God. It’s ancient, yes — but it’s honest. Raw. Real. It captures the whole range of human experience. Joy, sorrow, anger, trust, guilt, wonder — it’s all there. The Psalms teach us how to worship, how to lament, how to repent, and how to hope.

    Over the next few weeks, we’ll walk through several psalms that are especially meaningful to me. But my bigger prayer is that they’ll become meaningful to you. Because no matter what season of life you’re in — whether you’re on the mountaintop or deep in a valley — there’s a psalm for you. And more importantly, there’s a Savior who meets you there.

    Come join us on Sunday mornings through August as we open the Psalms and discover how God meets us in every season of life — in joy and in sorrow, in strength and in struggle — and how His Word invites us to live with deeper trust, lasting hope, and a heart rooted in Him.

    Let’s walk this path together.

    — Pastor Bradshaw

  • His Only Banner Over Me Is Love

    Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction—responsibilities, distractions, expectations, and the occasional temptation to chase after things that never satisfy. In those moments, it’s not that I’ve forgotten who Jesus is… it’s that I’ve wandered from remembering who I am to Him.

    There’s a lyric form an old Petra song (“First Love”) that always grabs my heart:

    “Your only banner over me is love.”

    It echoes a verse tucked into the love poetry of Song of Solomon 2:4:

    “He brought me to the banqueting house, and His banner over me was love.”

    In the ancient world, a banner wasn’t just decoration. It was identity. It marked whose army you were in, what nation you belonged to, or who you followed. It was a sign of belonging and allegiance.

    But the banner God flies over His people isn’t a war flag or a scoreboard tallying our wins and losses.

    It’s love.

    Not Performance. Not Shame. Just Love.

    We’re prone to imagine that God’s posture toward us changes based on how well we’re doing spiritually. If I’m reading my Bible, praying hard, making good choices—then God is pleased, right? But if I’ve been distracted, drifting, or struggling with sin—then maybe He’s disappointed, holding back, or just waiting for me to get it together.

    That’s not the God of the Bible.

    “but God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

    God doesn’t fly a banner that says, “Try harder” or “Almost good enough.”
    He flies one banner over His children: “Loved.”
    Not because we’ve earned it, but because Jesus did.

    For the Wandering Heart

    This matters deeply—especially for anyone who feels the tension between knowing the truth and struggling to live it out. The Christian life isn’t about trying to impress God. It’s about remembering who we are in Christ and returning—again and again—to the one who loved us first.

    When your heart starts to drift, when the world seduces your affections, when you feel unworthy, look up.

    See the banner He’s still flying over you.
    It hasn’t changed.
    It never will.

    From the Song:
    “Because You first loved me, Jesus, You will always be my First Love.”

    Return to your First Love. The banner is still up.

     A PRAYER

    Jesus, thank You that the banner over my life isn’t based on my performance but on Your perfect love. When I wander, remind me who I am in You. Woo me back with Your kindness. Help me rest under the covering of Your love—and let it be the banner I live under every day. Amen.

  • Faith in the Storm

    I’ve been sitting with Matthew 14:22–33 this week, and I can’t shake the image of Peter stepping out of that boat.

    Jesus had just fed thousands, the crowds were fired up, and He immediately sent His disciples away. Why? John tells us it’s because the people were about to force Him into kingship. Jesus knew the hearts of the crowd…and the hearts of His friends. So, He sent them into a boat, into a storm.

    Let that sink in: Jesus sent them into the storm.

    It wasn’t an accident. And it wasn’t punishment. It was preparation.

    Out in the middle of that storm, Jesus came walking toward them. And Peter stepped out of the boat. For a moment, his eyes were locked on Jesus, and he did something no one else in the boat had the courage to do: he walked on water.

    But then… the waves. The wind. The fear.

    Peter started to sink.

    Can I just say… I’ve been there.

    I’ve had moments where I stepped out in faith, sure I was doing what God called me to do… only to get overwhelmed when the storm rolled in. Fear crept in. Doubt whispered. And like Peter, I cried out, “Lord, save me!”

    And just like He did for Peter, Jesus didn’t hesitate. He didn’t lecture first. He didn’t shame him.

    He reached out His hand.

    Scripture implies they walked back together to the boat—Jesus and Peter, side by side.

    And when they climbed in, the storm stopped.

    That’s a mark of a disciple.

    Not that we never doubt. Not that we never sink.

    But that we lean on Jesus when circumstances get scary.

    Because He’s always there. In the storm. In the fear. In the faith. In the fall.

    And yes… in the rescue.

    Friend, if you’re in a storm right now, lean in. He’s closer than you think.