I read these words as I enter the prayer room. On most nights the room is our Church centre. But for one week - 24/7 - it is a house of prayer, the holy of holies, a sanctuary. As I come in from the cold, the first thing I notice is the warmth. I have come with a friend, and tonight we will spend two hours there. As I will later discover, two hours is barely enough.

A notice instructs me to take off my shoes, 'For the place that you are standing is Holy Ground.' I do. Then the people who have spent the last hour here offer to pray for us. They ask for God’s presence to be with us. It hardly seems necessary, for the moment I entered the room, I felt His presence all around. The air is thick with his sweet fragrance, and my senses detect the prayers of the saints who have prayed continuously for the last few days. I know that God is here.

There is much to see, much to do, much to take in. The room is decorated with candles, fairy lights and prayers. Prayers pinned up on walls, written on paper, painted on posters. Heartfelt, passionate, love-filled cries to our heavenly Father. I circuit the room, first reading a poster about our missionaries abroad, and their needs. Afterwards I spend some time at a witness board, where people have pegged up names of their unsaved friends and family. Someone has thoughtfully listed some verses to guide me in my intercession.

The remainder of the wall is taken up with posters detailing each of my church’s ministries. I dwell on each and offer up my prayers. I write a bible passage on the wall in felt-pen, to challenge and encourage others. It feels good to add to the spiritual wallpaper. In the corner a TV flickers silently, its screen showing me images of London streets - a reminder of our surroundings and our mission field.

All the other walls are covered with paper, and on the paper are countless prophecies, songs, visions and verses. There is such truth, such clarity in these words. It is as if God himself has written them. And he has. I gaze hungrily at this visual feast, willing myself to remember everything I see. Hoping and praying that I will not forget.

 And then I notice it. A section of the room curtained off. Seemingly out of bounds. At the base of the curtain a sign reads, 'We have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place.' As I step inside, a large cross attracts my attention. It hangs, adorned with red strips of ribbon, and beckons me in.

 

I kneel on the cushions, at the foot of the cross, and begin to realise that Jesus has opened the door to the holy of holies. That God is always with me, and that I can enter into his presence 24/7 - 365 days a year. In the intimacy of this room, I spend some time just being. Being still, being quiet, being with the lover of my soul.

There is a time for silence. But there is also a time to be loud. That time has now come. I turn the volume up on the CD player, and my friend and I spend the next half hour singing songs of praise to the Lord. Songs that lift the soul and shake the spirit. We don’t care how loud or out of tune we are. There is an audience of one, and He is well pleased.

Our time is up. We can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed. As the next people arrive to take our place, we say a prayer for them. The room has been a place of peace. A place of action, of silence, of tears and of laughter. It is a safe place, but also highly dangerous, because in the prayer room, God visits us. As I leave with a glimpse of heaven in my heart, God challenges me - to live like it all depends on me, and to pray like it all depends on him.