I love playing moms. It's a lot easier than being a mom, I hear.

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Faith Ford, who spoke with gentle humor yet deep insight: “I love playing moms. It’s a lot easier than being a mom, I hear.” To many, it may seem a lighthearted remark, a jest from one who has walked the stage and screen. Yet within it lies a truth about the difference between appearance and reality, between the imitation of life and the actual weight of living it.

First, let us ponder the act of playing moms. To portray a mother on stage or screen is to step into an image of nurturing, sacrifice, and care. The actress may wear the costume, speak the lines, and even weep the tears written for her. But when the curtain falls, she returns to her own life, leaving behind the burdens of the role. This is the gift and the mercy of acting—it allows one to experience the outlines of reality without the full measure of its weight.

But the true being a mom is not so easily set aside. It is not bound by scripts, nor does it end when the cameras stop rolling. It is night watches and daily sacrifices, the endless tending of bodies and souls, the worry that stretches across years. To be a mother is to give one’s very self as sustenance for another life. Ford’s words, then, are not only playful—they acknowledge the profound truth that lived reality carries depths that no imitation can ever fully capture.

Think of the tale of Cornelia, Mother of the Gracchi, in ancient Rome. When asked to display her jewels, she pointed to her sons and said, “These are my treasures.” Her role as a mother was not a performance but a life-long labor that shaped the destiny of Rome itself. No actress could truly capture the endurance of her sacrifice, for such love is lived, not staged. In Cornelia’s story we see the eternal truth Ford hints at: the reality of motherhood is heavier, nobler, and harder than any portrayal of it.

Thus we learn the distinction between the image and the essence. Acting, like many other crafts, can mimic the outward motions of life. Yet true life is lived in blood and breath, in sweat and tears. To confuse the one for the other is folly. The actress knows this well, and in her humility, she honors the mothers whose lives she portrays by admitting that her work is easier than their reality.

The lesson is this: honor those who labor in roles we may take for granted—especially the mothers, who bear the unseen weight of generations. Understand that the images we consume—on stage, in film, in stories—may inspire us, but they are shadows of the real sacrifices being made in quiet homes and sleepless nights.

And so I say unto you: if you are a mother, take courage in knowing that your unseen labor surpasses the applause of any stage. If you are not, then honor your mother—or the mothers around you—with gratitude and respect. Speak words of thanks, offer acts of service, lighten their load. For though actors may play many roles, the truest role of all—the raising of life itself—is played not before audiences, but in the sacred silence of the home.