"My faith has always been my rock. I've never been without it"

Faith is presented as bedrock, a foundation that does not shift with weather or time. Calling it a rock suggests weight, endurance, and a dependable surface to stand on when everything else trembles. The emphasis on always signals constancy across the full span of a life, not just during Sunday mornings or high moments. It is less an accessory than an atmosphere, something breathed, not merely believed. Saying she has never been without it doesn’t deny seasons of doubt or struggle; it asserts a deeper continuity beneath them, a trust that survives questions and reasserts itself when the storm passes.

Coming from a lineage where gospel and Appalachian hymnody threaded through daily life, faith functioned not merely as creed but as culture, songs, prayers, kitchen-table wisdom, and a shared moral vocabulary. For an artist traveling from stage to stage, scrutinized by audiences and temptations, a rock becomes both compass and ballast. It steadies choices and also restores a person to herself after the lights go down. The words carry the experience of standing by a loved one who battled addiction, of loving fiercely while insisting on truth. Such faith is practical: it forgives without excusing, hopes without naivety, and keeps showing up.

There is humility in the tone. She is not the hero of her story; the rock is. Dependence is not framed as weakness but as freedom from the need to manufacture strength on demand. Persistence in marriage, art, and compassion becomes possible because the load-bearing is outsourced to something larger, holier, sturdier.

The image also invites a universal reading. Everyone leans on something, success, romance, reputation, willpower. A rock that does not erode offers a different kind of security: identity anchored beyond applause, purpose that outlasts failure, love not contingent on performance. Such faith doesn’t remove valleys or heights; it reframes them, giving a place to plant your feet so you can keep walking.