I don’t know her real name. She went by “Cinnamon.”

She was a red-headed, freckle-faced camp counselor when I was twelve. Our days at camp were filled with stirring motivational talks from some of the most popular speakers on the circuit, and our nights were packed with activities—field games, talent shows, and even a magical evening at the Sundance Theater.

Every morning, I’d feel deeply inspired to live more Christlike. I’d sit through the lectures thinking about how I could treat my brother better, be more helpful to my mom, or maybe read my scriptures more faithfully. I thought about how I probably shouldn’t giggle so much during Sunday school. There were so many things I wanted to change about myself. The words I heard lit a fire in me. I wanted to live the gospel more perfectly. I wanted to be different—like the people the speakers talked about. I wanted to be that happy.

But as much as I wanted to change, the real conversion—the kind that touches your heart and stays—didn’t come from the speakers. It came from Cinnamon.

While their words helped spark my desire, she is the one who led me to what the scriptures call a “mighty change of heart.” And I write this now because I want her to know, finally, what her evening devotional did for me that night.

The lights were dim. All the girls in our group had gathered into one of the dorm rooms at Deseret Towers. Cinnamon sat at the front and played a beautiful, reverent piece of music. We had been rowdy, but the music softened us. We quieted down, curious what this was about. Up until then, the evening devotionals had been light and chatty. But this one felt different.

After the song, she talked about prayer. I honestly don’t remember a single word she said—I just remember her spirit. I’m sure she bore testimony that God hears our prayers and wants to hear from us.

Then she issued a challenge: When we returned to our dorms, she asked us not to speak to our roommates. She asked us to turn off the lights, kneel beside our beds, and pray—for twenty whole minutes.

At that age, twenty minutes felt like forever. But I took the challenge seriously. I think all those earlier lectures had softened my heart just enough to be open and try.

I returned to my room, said nothing to my roommate, and knelt at the side of my bed.

“Dear Father in Heaven, I thank thee for this day, for the chance to be here at this camp, for my family, for the church… um… I thank thee for trees…”

(I knew I had to stretch this out—I’d run out of material if I didn’t get specific fast.)

Eventually, I moved on to asking. I remembered the “four parts of prayer” I’d learned as a kid: open with His name, give thanks, ask for blessings, and close in the name of Jesus Christ. So I did:

“Please bless me to sleep well, and to have a good day tomorrow. Please bless my family...”

I asked for everything I could think of. When I peeked at the clock, I realized I was only halfway through. What else could I say?

So I stopped trying to talk, and instead began imagining. I pictured myself kneeling in front of my Heavenly Father. I concentrated hard, trying to see myself with Him. My mind wandered, of course, but I was determined to stay with the challenge—to keep the prayer “open” for the full twenty minutes.

Then it happened.

A warmth washed over me. A calm awareness came. I realized—someone was listening. Not just hearing my words, but actually receiving them with joy. In return, I felt an outpouring of love.

In that moment, I knew—deep in my soul—that God was real. He wasn’t just “God.” The one listening to my prayers was my Father. My Dad.

I had a Dad in Heaven.

He was there. He knew my name. He loved me. He rejoiced that I had taken the time to reach Him with a full purpose of heart. It felt like I had been away at “Earth camp,” and finally decided to call Home.

He had been there all along. But now—I knew it.

That night was a family reunion.

I stayed there, pouring out my heart—not with rehearsed phrases, but with real, heartfelt gratitude and joy. For the first time, I wasn’t praying to God… I was talking with my Dad. And I was filled to overflowing.

More than anything now, I look forward to returning Home. I get it. I know who I am. I’m His long-lost child, found again. I am literally His daughter—cherished, known, and beloved in the Royal Courts on High.

Years later, I had the privilege of becoming a camp counselor like Cinnamon. And yes—I issued the same challenge. Again and again, I’ve shared it with those I love—especially those who struggle to feel their worth.

And Cinnamon, if you ever read this, I want you to know: your challenge lives on.

Thank you—for your courage, your devotion, and your willingness to follow a prompting that night. Because of you, countless daughters of God now know who they really are. I am one of them.

And I truly believe…
He’s still waiting for the Big Family Reunion.
Now, I know that every time I pray, it can be just that—for me.

For more on this topic, visit: Knowing Who You Really Are.

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