My work took me to Sacramento. The next day, my rental car took me 90 minutes away to Sonoma County. During some precious downtime, I sat on the outside deck of the Sbraggia winery. The lady inside the tasting room poured me two small samples of Chardonnay. I was asked to see if I could taste the difference between the two vineyards represented in each glass.

But I wasn’t really there for the wine. I was there for the view.

We all have favorite places, each with its own beauty. This deck overlooks the Dry Creek region of Sonoma County. It is simple and lush and magnificent.

Our beautiful places help us transcend the day-to-day stuff. Our beautiful places are like balconies that help us look at the dancing and dramas of our lives from above it all.

Like this deck looks down on the Dry Creek valley.

Some of us have beautiful places made of concrete and metal. Others have more natural elements, like water, woods, grass, trees, mountains.

On that deck, I lifted my head towards the sun and closed my eyes so I could feel the warmth on my face.

It was then that I heard them talking.

Four or five women and men in their forties were sitting behind me and talking about the Church.

I heard a male voice say, “It’s amazing how one person can have such an influence. Now this new Pope starts saying things like maybe we should be more empathetic to others and advocate for the poor and marginalized, and now my mother is saying the same thing. In the Catholic Church, it is amazing how much influence one person can have.”

A woman in the group replied, “What I like is that the Church is always there. No matter how far away I go or how crazy my life gets, the Church never changes. It’s always right there. Rooted.”

A third voice chimed in. “People make too big a deal about religion. Be kind to people. That’s what it’s all about.”

I pretended to be totally oblivious to the conversation. I stuck my nose in the two samples of chardonnay as if I were actually trying to discern which vineyard was which, but I was all ears. I did not want them to stop talking. I was amazed and humbled by how freely they had entered into this topic. They sounded like intelligent and educated adults, and even though we were in a public space, they spoke loudly enough to be overheard. Their voices were sincere.

Maybe this is what happens when we are in our beautiful places. We get to the truth about soulful things.

Maybe this is what beauty does to us—brings out of us things that we may have been keeping under wraps.

Then a male voice that I hadn’t heard before responded to the it’s-all-about-being-kind statement: “To equate morality with religion diminishes religion.”

His statement was met with a noticeable pause, a momentary silence. I captured his statement and repeated it silently to myself so that I wouldn’t forget it.

Then all the voices started talking at once. Multiple conversations broke out simultaneously. No longer was it just a series of stand-alone statements and observations about faith being proclaimed. People began sharing and responding to each other. The energy was noticeably higher.

I was only able to capture bits and pieces of these conversations. I was fascinated and frustrated. I was trying my best to eavesdrop but couldn’t keep up. I briefly considered asking if I could sit with them. Absurd of me; this discussion was a discussion among friends, and had spontaneity and trust written all over it. I was a stranger.

A few minutes later, they had finished sampling the wine and were standing next to their car in the parking lot below this deck.

They were still talking as they got into their rental car and began to drive away.

I took a mental picture of the beautiful view to keep in my memory box. I will pull it out whenever I need a reminder that people like the ones in that car are driving around out there.

They are still out there.

It is comforting, but even more, it is inspiring to know that they, like this beautiful valley, will always be out there.