If God were a soul, and he decided to place himself in one place, I could see him choosing the Grand Canyon. It is big and wide and deep beyond comprehension. Every glimpse, from every location, is overwhelming.

But it doesn’t seem empty and cold like you might imagine a gigantic hole in rocks would be. Its vastness is warm and full. The same lookout point can take on a different, new beauty every hour based on how the sunlight casts its spotlights and shadows. At sunset, its beauty changes every minute.

When you go—because you must go—you will bring a camera. You will see the canyon, in all its grandness, and you will try to take a picture. But no picture will capture it as you saw it. No picture will explain the panoramic depth and mile after mile of amazing vistas when you look left and right.

When you stand next to the Canyon, you will feel small—especially if you hike into the Canyon a few miles and look up, to see how high it is above you, and down to see how deep it still goes. But something about it will make you feel big, a part of its greatness, and invincible. In short, it will simultaneously strike you with the adrenaline that comes with a fear of falling and the heart-stopping urge to jump. (Some find that urge irresistible. Check out this jamoke, who jumped from a rock plank down to a 5 ft diameter rock, with a 5,000 foot drop on all sides. We watched Search and Rescue bring him slowly back to safety and slap him with a several thousand dollar fine. This is what stupid looks like.)

But yes, it’s grand. It’s one of God’s many masterpieces. I like to think he made it unphotographable and unfilmable on purpose. You can’t capture its grandness with technology because only God holds that artist’s brush. So if you want to see it, you’ve got to see it for yourself.