I live in Hail Alley, the region of the United States just to the west of Tornado Alley. Out here in Hail Alley, insurance premiums are high (if you can get coverage at all), weather radar watching is a popular pastime, and greenish-colored clouds serve as a reminder to pull your car into the garage.

When my family first relocated to western Nebraska, I remember wondering out loud during a thunderstorm, “Does it ever just rain here, or is there always hail, too?” Usually the hail is small, but sometimes even the small hail accumulates like snow on the ground. Occasionally, the hailstones are large and destructive.

Even though I’ve lived in Hail Alley for almost eleven years now, I am still in awe of the unpredictable and devastating power of the weather.

Last week, meteorologists were predicting an active weather pattern with severe weather possible nearly every day. I checked my phone before heading out to yoga class, and I saw our area was in a severe thunderstorm watch, with the greatest chance for storms later in the evening.

At the very end of class, right as we were preparing for savasana (also called Corpse Pose), phones started blaring a tornado warning sound. Some students decided to chance the weather and drive home. Others of us decided to head for the storm shelter at the library. The wind picked up outside, and the greenish clouds frothed with motion. “I don’t like how the clouds look,” a student said on her way to her car. I didn’t either.

Down in the storm shelter at the library, I decided a library is a pretty good place to ride out the weather. Librarians are some of the best people out there, and there is never a shortage of creativity and things to do at the library. We hadn’t been in the shelter for very long when a family with children, a dog, and a cat joined us. Just moments after that, a youth baseball team–decked out in their uniforms and eye black–found places around the tables in the library basement. 

Eventually, we had 60 people spread out across the shelter area. Energy and sound filled the space. As we waited for the storm to pass, I could hear conversations as people called family to check in. I watched teammates cheer each other up and take each other’s minds off of the wait. Occasionally, I could hear a rush of rain outside, but mostly, all I could hear was the energy of a room full of people haphazardly brought together. 

The storm ended, and I decided to drive home. As I exited the library, I saw a brilliant rainbow shining across the sky. I looked down and saw marble and ping pong ball sized hail across the ground. I paused just for a moment to take in the smell of the rain and the beauty of the sky, while a streetcorner preacher warned us that the destructive hail was our punishment for not repenting and turning back to God.

His words conflicted with the way I see God and with the striking bow in the sky. After all, if in the story of Noah and the flood the rainbow symbolized the hanging up of the warrior’s bow as a promise of peace and protection, why do we continue to try and bring people to God with words of violence and separation?

As I drove home from the library, I thought about hail in the Bible. I remembered how hail had been one of the plagues in Egypt, and quite often hail was used as an image to remind us of the power of God. Recently, I learned that hail also contains nitrogen. Plants that survive hailstorms receive an infusion of nitrogen to help them grow back stronger.

I got out of my car and surveyed the damage in my yard. The hail at my house was significantly larger than the hail at the library. Tree debris littered the sidewalks, hail divots marked the ground, and pieces of my garden tomato plants were everywhere. It remains to be seen how or if the plants will grow back, but as I looked at the flooded streets, the scattered leaves, and reflected on the community of people in the library storm shelter, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with awe.