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She begins every morning with a two-hour routine—washing, dressing, exercising. She needs at least seven helpers each week just to meet the day. A quadriplegic for 36 years, Joni Eareckson Tada can do very little for herself—not turn over in bed, not brush her own teeth, not apply makeup. She was 17 when she broke her neck, so most of her life has been spent in this condition, dependent on others for the most basic daily functions.

By the time the rest of world sees her, she looks beautiful, poised, perfectly turned out. Speaking to large audiences, addressing her daily radio show or writing her books, Tada comes across as a warm, self-assured, articulate woman. Her wheelchair is forgotten.

But of course she can never leave it. Pain is a constant companion. So is the knowledge that she lives on borrowed time. A broken bone, collapsed lung, or infection could put her into the hospital for months.

Tada requires two hours to go to bed each night. Since her body will tolerate the strain of sitting up for only so long each day, she needs to be prone by eight o'clock, sleepy or not. (On the road she can't manage that, but she pays a price when she gets home.) She used to find the long, still hours in bed claustrophobic. Now she welcomes the forced rest, using the time for quietness and prayer. In absolute bodily stillness she thinks through the whirlwind of activity that greets her each day.

"Having a disability is a full-time job," emphasizes Judy Butler, Tada's assistant for more than 20 years. If so, then Tada holds down two jobs. Her second job begins each morning when Tada drives in a specially equipped van to Joni and Friends, located in a prosaic office building in Agoura Hills, California. Tada works a highly scheduled day, as she has since she started the organization 25 years ago.

Much of her time she devotes to writing, working side by side with longtime assistant Francie Lorey, who types at Tada's direction. Tada is a serious, dedicated writer, laboring over each phrase. Besides numerous books, she writes all the scripts for her daily radio show, which airs on 850 outlets. (She has produced well over 5,000 shows so far.) Managing Joni and Friends falls to executive vice president Doug Mazza, but Tada has her finger in every aspect of the growing organization. "I have the gift of communication," she says of her contribution. "I am a driven person."

She is also passionate. She loves hymns and will break into heartfelt song in the presence of strangers. In my 30 years of journalism, people have occasionally asked to pray with me, but never to sing. She did twice. We sang all four verses of "A Mighty Fortress." (I stumbled over words; she didn't.) Later, on the phone, we sang "Of the Father's Love Begotten."

Whether impishly playful (as she often is) or marveling over God's sovereignty (as she often does), Tada has only one setting: full speed. Even in private conversation she speaks passionately, stretching to find the perfect, picturesque word. She inspires, and she means to inspire. Yet she will choose to speak at a symposium on stem-cell research over an inspirational conference. "Inspiration is peripheral," she says. "I think it's the wake that you create as you move forward. It's what happens along the way. If it becomes the focus, then I think I'm off target.

"You've been given this day. You don't have a bladder infection. You don't have a lung infection. Your bones are about as dense as an 85-year-old's, but you've made it into your wheelchair without breaking your hip, praise God. These are the things I think about in the morning when I get up—this day that I've got ahead of me."

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January 2004, Vol. 48, No. 1