525, 600 minutes. Friends, how will we measure life this year?

Every day I hear “Seasons of Love,” by songwriter Jonathan Larson, pose that question. Poignant theme, catchy tune.

The little earworm with a big heart.

Dreamer has it on loop, so he can rehearse it. He and our oldest daughter will be auditioning for an ensemble within the Whitworth Community Chorale. We’ll all sing this April at the swankiest venue in town.

To perform again with our girl . . . in our seventies — the so-called exit-lane, I mean, on-ramp years (because . . . heaven, right?) — bowls me over.

For now, my seasons of love are earthbound, and I hold these fleeting moments dear.

525,600 minutes . . . The musical groove replays. Caught up in the syncopation, I have a mini-epiphany: it’s Leap Year; we have 527, 000 minutes!

Remember that small discrepancy between global calendars and earth’s orbit around the sun? A measly quarter-hour difference, over decades, will throw off the seasons. Think crops. Holidays. Travel schedules. Nearly every four years, we have to adjust.

We are making up for lost time.

How? A full day: sheer windfall.

I’m planning a day-treat — more doable on short notice than a personal retreat. If I schedule it in the next couple weeks, I’ll join almost 5 million “leaplings” (those born on February 29) as they prepare for the quasi-rarified observance of their birth.

So much constellates around that idea: birth . . .

Why not re-sync with the heavens?

Choose an ordinary day to reenter the timeless, friends — one spacious enough to absorb the “awe behind the obvious” as Rick Rubin puts it.

I enjoy shifting artfully numbered wood blocks on my universal calendar. “All my times are in your hands,” I murmur, as the new numeral faces front. I’ll start my day-treat there.

I might page through old albums. Lately, God is reviving my past (a kind of retrofitting, perhaps?), bringing the trusted model up to date.

I’ll lean into my favorite breath prayer throughout the day (see below).

Turns out the word “inspiration,” from the Latin inspirare, means “to breathe life into.” Notice that last syllable: rare? A definition far older than I am translates inspirare as “the immediate influence of the divine.”

Time is more layered than we think. Unresolved questions lurk there, often skewing our current worldview. I could write a book about that. And did (update below).

Plan your day-treat or, if you prefer, wake up and be deliciously spontaneous each given hour.

Grab a candle. Strike a match. Allow that brief singe and flare to usher you somewhere.

Friends, share one thing you’d love to do on your day-treat . . .

Trinity Wick Breath Prayer: from the archives.

Paced for the cadence of a relaxed breath, pray the first half of each line on the inhale; the second half on the exhale. watch for what kindles within.

(inhale) Holy God: (exhale) commune with me
Perfect Love: suffuse me
Light of the World: illumine me

(extinguish match to the following words)

Three-in-One . . . I, in Thee
Here am I, use me

“Seasons of Love,” by Jonathan Larson (525,600 minutes), from the musical Rent

Rick Rubin: The Creative Act: a Way of Being

Photo by Rachael Crowe on Unsplash

Sneak preview, back cover. Might have books in mid-March!