3.12 am. I sat there in silence. One small spotlight illuminated the room and lit up a window full of post-it notes and an old wooden cross draped in green ribbon, writes Ben Connelly. DC and Bean lay on the floor sleeping. “Great! This is my slot, and I can’t even listen to music.” No sound then, only the sound of nothing. No words, no cars driving past outside - just silence.

What began as a Tuesday night to read one of my neglected books, became something far greater. The Prayer Room set up in Antrim’s YMCA building was the setting; a prayer space set aside for anyone in the town to come into for a week.

7 days. 168 hours. 10080 minutes. 604800 seconds of continuous prayer. And for me that night, the prayer room seemed to lift out of its typical space, and to float heavenwards. I sat in a thin place where Heaven and Earth seemed to meet. 3.13 am.

I love 24 Hour Prayer Rooms; an avid follower of the movement ever since I read a book called ‘Red Moon Rising’ when I was 16. Then even more so when I was part of setting up a 24/3 Prayer Room last March. So when I was asked to be part of a team hoping to host a week-long time of continuous prayer in Antrim, there would be only one answer. We met up for a ‘conversation’ as a group of random people, from different ages and Churches, in June. We discussed why, how and what a Prayer Room would look like in Antrim this year. We got excited.

I have always been one of those people who rush towards the empty midnight slots. For me, it’s something special. It seems like since everybody is asleep, God isn’t busy so he decides to spend his time with me. I’m awake so I get His attention, His presence, His love. I’m very thankful that this isn’t the case in reality, but that’s the best way to describe my late night encounters. This was no different during my Tuesday night experience. I felt alone, yet not lonely.  It was one of the deepest encounters with Jesus that I’ve ever had.

This was my story. My late night tale.

The week was such a success story that we decided to keep the prayer room open for an extra three days.  And as the nine days came to close I again sat in the room alone. A little less silent than before, but it reminded me of that moment. I imagined the other ‘tales’ that people who had used the prayer room this week had. What encounters did they have? What did they learn? Who did they speak to? It’s hard to know everybody who came in, and even harder to know what they experienced during their hour.

However, I am confident that their prayers do not fall on deaf ears; but fall on the heart of a loving a caring Dad.

Nine days of continuous prayer had ended, and I sat there in silence, smiling to myself knowing - “This is just the start.”