17/08/2026
SEPTEMBER — MY MONTH OF PRAISE
September was no longer just another month on the calendar.
She declared it her Month of Praise.
Every morning, before the world could speak to her, she would enter her altar space. She would leave the noise of yesterday outside the door, stand before her altar, and lift her heart toward her Father.
And she made herself a sacred assignment:
Every hour. Every day. Throughout the entire month of September.
She would take six scriptures on praise, each one representing a letter in the word:
P — R — A — I — S — E.
Six letters.
Six scriptures.
Six translations.
And one heart determined to praise.
At every hour, she would open her Bible and read her six praise scriptures in six different Bible translations. Then she would lift her voice and release her praise chants.
She wasn't merely reading words.
She was building an atmosphere.
She was reminding her soul of who God was.
She was declaring that no matter what September brought, praise would be her first response.
At the altar, she would begin:
P — PRAISE.
She would read the first scripture slowly, allowing every word to settle into her spirit.
Then:
R — REJOICE.
Another scripture.
Another translation.
Another reason to celebrate her Father.
Then:
A — ADORATION.
Her voice would rise.
Then:
I — ILLUMINATION.
She would read again, allowing the Word to light the places in her heart that had once been covered by disappointment.
Then:
S — SING.
And she would begin her praise chant.
"Praise, praise, praise, praise God."
"Praise God for Your wonderful mercies."
"Praise God for my babies."
"Praise God for everything You have promised me."
"Praise God for what You restored."
"Praise God for what I cannot yet see."
Then came the final letter:
E — EXALT.
She would lift her hands and exalt her Father above every circumstance, every delay, every unanswered question and every battle she had ever faced.
And when the six scriptures were finished, the six translations had been read, and the six letters had become one word—
PRAISE.
—she would begin again with her chant.
Not because she had nothing to ask God for.
But because she had discovered something deeper:
Praise could become her prayer before the prayer.
At 7 o'clock, she praised.
At 8 o'clock, she praised.
At 9 o'clock, she praised.
At 10 o'clock, she praised.
Hour after hour, she returned to the altar.
Sometimes her voice was strong.
Sometimes it was soft.
Sometimes tears accompanied the words.
Sometimes she simply sat before God with her heart open.
But she kept returning.
Every hour.
September became a rhythm.
The altar became a meeting place.
The scriptures became her foundation.
The six translations gave her six different windows through which to behold the same God.
And the chants became the sound of her September.
As the days passed, something inside her began to change.
She realized she was no longer waiting for something good to happen before praising.
She was praising while she waited.
She praised for what had been lost.
She praised for what had been restored.
She praised for what was coming.
She praised for her Ultra Zionic babies.
She praised for the promises she believed God had spoken over her life.
She praised for every testimony she could already see and every testimony she could not yet see.
And every hour, she returned to those six letters:
P — R — A — I — S — E.
By the middle of September, the words no longer felt like an assignment.
They had become a lifestyle.
By the end of September, she understood why she had chosen six scriptures, six translations and one word.
Because she wasn't simply filling the hours.
She was filling the hours with praise.
And when the final day of September arrived, she entered her altar space one more time.
She opened her Bible.
She read her six scriptures.
She read them in six translations.
Then she placed the Bible down, picked up her little maracas—her “Mic to the World”—and smiled.
She knew the month was ending.
But the praise wasn't.
She lifted her voice:
“Praise, praise, praise, praise God!”
And in that moment, she realized:
September had taught her that an hour can be filled with worry, or an hour can be filled with praise.
So she chose praise.
Every hour.
Every day.
For the entire month.
September became her Month of Praise.
And the altar became the place where every hour, she chose to praise her Father again.
