Divine, Serendipitous Butterflies
There are times in our lives when the earth feels like it has moved beneath our feet. It randomly adjusts, forming a tiny crack that becomes our new reality if we don’t ignore it. Many who accept the tectonic nudge, regardless of how things turn out, can’t help but wonder about the nature of their change. Was it the result of the butterfly effect, serendipity, divine providence, or all three?
It’s graduation and wedding season, with my own anniversary coming up soon, and I have a new manuscript out on submission with a premise that is serendipitously similar to this year’s historic Kentucky Derby win for female trainer, Cherie DeVaux. Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about life’s weird trajectories. You know what I’m talking about—those life-changing decisions we make without knowing, the moments that feel eerily coincidental, if not cosmically or spiritually touched, shifting our path any number of degrees.
The Butterfly Effect traces back to a 1972 talk by meteorologist and mathematician Edward Lorenz, titled “Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?” A foundational concept of Chaos Theory, the butterfly became a metaphor for how tiny differences in initial conditions can produce big changes in outcomes over time.
June is the month when I met and married my husband. Dan does not chalk our union up to mere chance or timing. Romantic that he is, he insists that it is 1/1000th of a point that resulted in our marriage and our two grown kids—the butterfly effect. 1/1000th of a point is what Dan needed to secure a B in his sophomore economics class at the University of Georgia, circa 1988. Mind you, Dan never missed a class, never saw a test before the test, always engaged in class discussions. So when the PhD candidate TA would not budge on the 1/1000th of a point, Dan changed his major the next day from business to history. A year later, he enrolled in a summer study-abroad program (History and English majors only) at Jesus College in Oxford, England. And on the first night, he slid onto a bench at the end of the long refectory table, where directly across from him was the woman who would become the first member of his future family.
Dan’s butterfly effect was my serendipity. Oxford happened during my intellectual-snob phase, when I sought a more academic program than the party bus rolling through Austria at the time. I was not in the market for a boyfriend, considering I already had one, but when those crystal-blue eyes in a crisp white button-down slid onto the bench across from me and laughed robustly at the same things I thought funny, it felt like I had grown butterfly wings. I’m still flying.
Serendipity, by definition, is a stroke of luck when you stumble upon something good that you weren’t seeking. The concept has been around since 1754, when English writer, art historian, and politician Horace Walpole coined the expression, based on a Persian fairy tale called The Three Princes of Serendip, a story in which the characters made happy discoveries by accident. Serendipity is connected to chance, while the butterfly effect is the recognition that something small was the catalyst—the first domino in a long chain.
Many see the butterfly effect and serendipity as consistent with divine providence (predestination), the idea that God works through ordinary events rather than intervening in dramatic ways. Some people believe moments like Dan’s 1/1000th of a point are spiritual reminders of human responsibility, with faith reinforcing those everyday choices. A kind word or a piece of good advice may change someone’s life. The smallest generosity can ripple through an entire community. Even the tiniest moral decisions can have consequences no one foresees.
The common ground between the butterfly effect, serendipity, and their spiritual applications is that small actions matter.
The best example of where all three of these concepts converge is the Cody’s Wish story I’ve shared many times, most recently on my People-Inspired Podcast with friend Paul Halloran, author of the newly released book, Cody’s Wish: A Boy, a Racehorse, and a Fight for Life. What began as a serendipitous moment when one of about 40 foals Danny Mulvihill could choose from at Gainsborough Farm walked up to Cody’s wheelchair and put his head into the young boy’s lap took on the butterfly effect when that foal grew up as Cody’s namesake and started winning races. The horse ultimately became Champion Horse of the Year, changing many lives along the way. Concurrently, and throughout the inspirational journey was Cody’s father, Kelly Dorman, who is famous and for his spiritually consistent assertion that “There are no coincidences.”
This is what I love about life and the stories we live—our individual interpretations may vary, but the sense of wonder is the same.
Serendipity feels magical and hopeful.
The butterfly effect feels intricate and interconnected.
Divine providence feels purposeful and meaningful.
A recent example of divine, serendipitous butterflies fully at play began in medias res, while I was placing a bet at Churchill Downs on Derby Day. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was our dog sitter, with a text about his friend who works at the Lexington Public Library. She had been at our house and noticed author Patti Callahan Henry’s The Story She Left Behindon my reading table. Did I know she was speaking at the Lexington/Beaumont branch the very next day?
At first, I didn’t believe him. Patti was a friend. We’d never met in person but exchanged countless texts and talked on the phone after being introduced by a mutual friend in Chattanooga. Patti had been incredibly kind and generous regarding my debut novel, Back to Blue Holly, offering advice, reading my book, and writing the most beautiful blurb. I had thanked her with cakes and candles, and that’s it, and now she was in Lexington and hadn’t told me she was coming. It didn’t make sense. I was upset with myself for not knowing.
The next day, after surprising Patti with news that I lived in Lexington, not Chattanooga, I attended her event then kidnapped her, and brought her back to the farm. After a makeshift light supper, Dan took her to the stallion barn, and she learned more than she bargained for about Thoroughbred breeding and racing. She met some hunky champion studs, including Nyquist, Cody’s Wish, and Street Sense, all of whom loved her and her carrots.
And then she did it again—helped me with my next book. When I told her my premise—an unlikely female owner and trainer, against the odds, working their way to the top of the Thoroughbred racing industry—it blew her mind. “You have to send it out right now!” she said, listing several agents, and I could use her name.
My afternoon with Patti was serendipitous—a lucky surprise to finally meet my friend in person—and if the story ends there, I am happily fulfilled. But because of her generous feedback, introductions, and support, the story of my new manuscript has the potential to wrap with a butterfly effect that began when? When we adopted Ray, I guess, 17 years ago. Because without old Ray, we wouldn’t have needed Strohmann to be at our house, and his library friend would not have seen Patti’s book. Or even before, when Ray’s tiny retina detached as he formed inside his mother dog’s womb. If Ray had been born with two seeing eyes, he would not be our dog, and I would not have gotten to see Patti in Lexington the day after Derby.
Was it luck, God’s plan, or a tiny chaotic fissure? I’ll take all three because right now, they all feel good to me. ;-)
