The Carved Places

There are moments when a trip becomes more than a vacation.

Standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, I found myself still—not just physically, but spiritually. The kind of stillness where your soul quiets, your breath slows, and the world hushes enough for you to hear something deeper. Not the rush of the river or the echo off the canyon walls, but the voice of God whispering, “I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

I’ll be honest—I wasn’t exactly enthused about seeing this part of the park. The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone is known to draw big crowds, and I’ve always been more drawn to the quieter, more isolated corners of the park—the ones that require effort, intention, and stillness. The places where most visitors won’t go because there’s no instant stimulation, no easy reward.

But we went anyway.

The drive toward the canyon was nothing short of majestic. Towering mountain ranges stretched beside us, and more than once, we felt like we were flying through the sky—so high up with nothing but air and awe on either side. The lack of guardrails, the immensity of the landscape—it was equal parts terrifying and thrilling. It was also unmistakably divine. The surrender of letting the road take us through the unknown is a lot like my relationship with God.

And then we arrived.

The sheer force of the river carving its way through ancient stone is a sight and a thought to behold. The water doesn’t ask permission to move mountains—it just does. Year after year, moment by moment, it shapes and refines the rock, leaving behind layers of color, history, and beauty. And in that, I saw a reflection of how God works in us. Not all at once.

Sometimes slowly, sometimes with force. But always with purpose.

This canyon wasn't formed in comfort. It was shaped by pressure, by water pounding against resistance, by time and transformation. Isn't that the story of us, too? The seasons that changed us weren’t always gentle. But they were necessary. The loss. The waiting. The stretching. The starting over. God doesn't waste any of it. He uses it to carve something deep and lasting within us—something breathtaking.

Looking at this canyon, I realized that the very places in our lives that feel broken or too far gone are often where God is doing His deepest, most beautiful work. The carved places become the sacred places. The valleys we dread may actually be the places where His glory flows most freely.

Yellowstone was more than a trip. It was a reminder that creation testifies to the Creator, that beauty rises from pressure, and that even in the wildest, most unpredictable places, God is present and working.

If you’re in a canyon season right now, take heart. The shaping isn’t the end—it’s the evidence that something beautiful is being formed. The river doesn’t stop flowing. Neither does God.

It looks like a painting but its a photo I took using a 600MM lens.

“The mountains melt like wax before the Lord, before the Lord of all the earth.” – Psalm 97:5