4. The Butterfly Effect
Chaos theory, an R-rated thriller, and the betrayal of an existential peace agreement
In chaos theory, “The Butterfly Effect” describes how tiny, microscopic changes in the initial conditions of a complex system can cascade into completely unpredictable and catastrophic outcomes. The classic example is a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil and setting off a tornado weeks later in Texas.
The irony of this concept, and its sheer structural weight, wouldn’t hit me with a double reality until my adulthood as I reflected on the significance of the title of the movie and the theory it was based off of and how this situation was an actual perfect representation of the concept.
The Cold Reception
I was on a profound spiritual high when I came home from church camp, convinced I possessed a life-saving knowledge that my family desperately needed. I couldn’t wait to tell my mom about Jesus, fully expecting her to see the beauty of what Christianity was offering. Apparently, my mother already knew about Jesus and Christianity. Even worse, she wanted nothing to do with it and actively looked down on it. My new existential rescue boat was immediately met with cold cynicism.
The Shifting Geometry of Isolation
Simultaneously, the geometry of my daily life had radically changed. I had left my hometown to escape the deep depression of living in a house where non-stop drug parties occurred. Now, I had moved from a small town of 2,000 people into the OKC metro area to attend a massive 6A high school. The isolation was suffocating. I was living with my mom at my aunt’s house, sharing a bedroom with her, and trying to emotionally manage all of these sudden pressures. For about four months, I felt entirely alone.
The faith had given me a quiet backstop existentially, but honestly, I still didn’t understand much theologically. I couldn’t have explained the complexities of the trinity or how salvation worked mechanically. I just knew I had confessed myself to be a sinner and asked for forgiveness. I didn’t go to church, read the Bible, or pray. In reality, I had simply signed a peace agreement with the God who I thought would kill me if I smoked pot again.
My only tangible moral rule was that I stopped cursing. I still listened to lyrically explicit music, but I would strictly silent-mouth the curse words when singing along. That arbitrary line in the sand was my security deposit on the contract.
Testing the Existential Boundaries
Eventually, the isolation broke. I made friends with two guys at school who were popular, funny, and cool. They weren’t Christians and wanted nothing to do with Jesus, but they were highly amused by my refusal to curse. To them, it was a challenge. They made it their unified mission to break my streak.
I held off for many months before the system failed and they finally broke me.
The night they got me to curse for the first time, it opened the floodgates to more deviant behavior. It felt terrifyingly identical to the night on my fifteenth birthday when my family convinced me that the lake fire was a mere coincidence and not divine providence. I felt torn between the safety of my vertical peace agreement with God and this newly forming horizontal hierarchy that I needed to support me through school. Once again, I caved to keep the tangible human relationships. We proceeded to do various things that night that would have horrified my youth pastor and the friends at camp.
Collapse in the Dark
The systemic debt for that choice came due later that night in a dark movie theater.
My friends wanted to sneak into a rated “R” movie. We bought tickets to a PG-13 film, dodged the ushers, and slipped into the theater showing The Butterfly Effect. Because the theater was packed, we couldn’t find seats together. We had to separate throughout the room and find open seats fast before we got caught by the ushers. In a rush, I found a seat entirely by myself.
Suddenly isolated in the dark, my heart started pounding and the full weight of my choices hit me like a physical blow. I felt incredible guilt for giving up on my conviction about cursing, I felt like my church crowd would look down on me, and most of all, I felt like God was deeply disappointed in me. I had violated the treaty.
As I watched this violent thriller play out on the screen, a horrific, familiar sensation crept into my chest. It was the exact same feeling I had on the couch when I smoked the laced pot. My heart raced to toxic thresholds, my throat constricted, and I couldn’t breathe. The room began to spin.
Panic seized me. I thought this agonizing physical breakdown was a chemical reaction caused strictly by laced drugs.
What was happening to me? Why was my system collapsing without the laced weed? Was this my new pattern in life going forward? Anytime I would violate my conscience, God would cause me to enter into this state?
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