When Maria Bousada of Madrid, Spain, contacted the California fertility clinic, she lied about her age since 55 was the maximum age for their clients.

When she gave birth at the age of 66, she assured the world she was a good choice for being the oldest woman on record to give birth. After all, her mother had lived to the ripe old age of 101. Twin sons, Paul and Christian, were born to this single mother who had experienced menopause two decades ago. The boys are now three years old.

Maria died this week at the age of 69.

You never know.

I said to a deacon in my church, “Your father is in his 90s. I suppose we’ll be having you with us for a long time to come.”

He died at the age of 66.

People say to me, “Your dad lived to be 95-plus and your mom has just celebrated her 93rd birthday. You’ll live to a ripe old age, too.”

Maybe so. Hope so. No way to tell. If it’s up to me, I’ll do all the things I know to do in order to assure it.

But there is a great unknown in this equation. “Thou art my God; my times are in thy hands.” (Psalm 31:14-15)

What does the Lord want?

When my cousin, Dr. Bill Chadwick of Clanton, Alabama, went to Heaven on Wednesday of last week–in his office in the middle of a work day–it caught us all by surprise. At his funeral, his pastor said, “Bill had planned to live to 100.”

God had other plans.

Which brings me to this personal note.

Having just retired from the active pastoral/missions ministry to a life of a) writing, b) speaking wherever I’m invited, c) cartooning for the denomination and various publications, and d) whatever my wife needs from me, and doing so at the youthful age of 69 (!), the thought occurs to me, “So, how much time do you have for an active ministry?”

Here is my reasoned answer, one I hope will not impress Heaven as presumptuous.

Let’s say ten years.

Yesterday when my 12-year-old granddaughters dropped in on my writing office at our church (the First Baptist Church of Kenner, LA), I told them that my goal is to write and publish one book a year for the next ten years. “One of these days, I want you to have a shelf filled with 10 books Grandpa wrote.”

I told them separately, but their answers were identical (just like them): “Cool,” with a nice smile.

“What’s the first book?” one said.

“It’s on prayer.”

“Cool. What’s it called?”

“Good question, but I think I know the answer.”

I asked her to look at the book on the desk beside her arm. “Sense and Nonsense About Prayer” by Lehman Strauss. Published in 1974.

I said, “That will be the title.”

“But Grandpa, someone has already written that book.”

“No, honey. He wrote a book and named it that. I thought it was such a great title that I bought the book for that reason alone. But the book I write will be different. It’ll just have the same name.”

“Oh.”

And the future books? Fellowship in the church, leadership lessons (all learned the hard way) for church leaders, and maybe two more of a different nature. There will have to be a book on the first couple of years of recovering from Hurricane Katrina. And unless other subjects rise up and clamor to be dealt with, I may take my pastoral diaries of the 1990s and turn them into a book.

The last idea is really fascinating to me. For ten solid years, I spent at least 30 minutes every night–before Facebook and this blog came along to usurp my time and attention!–jotting down in longhand the events of the day, descriptions of what I was going through, and notes on the sermons I would be preaching the following Sunday.

To my knowledge, there is no book like that. But in order to sell a publisher on printing it, I’ll probably need to write a few books prior to it and demonstrate that my books will sell.

Not always a foregone conclusion. Most books do not sell well.

Some friends in Virginia for whom I did a lot of artwork recently sent me a thank-you and a gift card to Barnes and Noble. This evening, I spent an hour there, combing the stacks and trying on various books. It’s funny how selective you are when you have a certain amount to spend and no more.

In the back of the second floor I found the books on Christianity. Judging by how they were displayed–or rather, hardly displayed at all–I decided they would be selling very few of those books.

Writers I know say if they did not push their own books it would not get done. So, I suppose one goes into it expecting to be his own promotion agent.

Know what the hardest part of writing a book is? (I’ll bet you do.)

Dealing with all the distractions, the other things to do rather than sit at the computer and write. (Okay, type.)

This letter needs answering. These books need straightening. These emails need replying. My mom needs a call. Wonder if Mike is available for lunch. I must pick up my clothes at the cleaners. Did I put on Facebook that I’m preaching Sunday at Knoxville’s Central Baptist Church-Bearden? Where’s my calendar–am I forgetting some appointment? The trash needs taking out. Where are my new pens? The printer needs new ink and more paper.

On and on it goes.

I know from long experience that pastors have the same distractions when they lock themselves into the study to work on sermons. Cartoonists are similarly plagued when they try to turn out the next batch of drawings for the syndicate.

Focus. Dedication. Perseverance.

And yet, by telling my family–and you–that my goal is to turn out a book a year for the next decade, I’m locking myself in and throwing away the key. This has to get done.

So, these days I’m praying about prayer. Praying the Father will show me how to understand and what to write and go ahead of me and find the publisher.

Praying about a book on prayer is not something we do every day. But the shelves loaded with such books tells me someone has done it before. So, it’s not like this is a new thing when my prayer arrives in Heaven.

“Here’s Joe asking for help on this prayer book he’s writing. And this time, he’s not putting cartoons in it! Well, that’s refreshing!”