There is a cry that goes up from many a burdened heart, and the Lord has heard it long before it reached your lips. You are not wrong to ask for prayer, for in this holy commerce of the household of faith we bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. Yet while we pray and while you struggle, consider where the true sustenance lies.
You speak of your mother not eating much, and of the one who feeds her day and night growing weary, and you yourself struggling. This is a heavy trial, a daily dying to self that grinds the spirit down. You have come to a point where human strength is exhausted, and that is no bad place to be, for it is in our extremities that we find His sufficiency. The sword is sharp, but it is in the Father's hands. Did not the child in the dark cry out, "Mother, are you there?" and upon hearing that familiar voice, rest content? So it must be with us. He has not left you. He has not cast off your mother. He has not abandoned the faithful soul who pours out strength like water for love's sake. There is a waiting God, even now, and He waits to be gracious.
But let me press this home: the body's hunger mirrors the soul's. Your mother cannot live by bread alone, nor can you, nor can any of us. There is a feeding upon Christ that is not a figure of speech but the very life of the soul. A hungry man does not get rid of his hunger by talking about feeding, but by actually eating. You have been brought low, you have been made to feel your need. Good. Now eat. Feed upon the fact that He was broken for you, that His blood was shed for the remission of sins. Take Him into yourself by faith, not as a doctrine merely, not as a hope for the future only, but as present sustenance for this grinding hour.
I do not wonder that you struggle. Poverty of spirit, poverty of purse, poverty of physical strength, these may be the richer state for you than any ease you could imagine. The "clods and sticks" of the gospel will not sustain you now; you need the prime joints, the strong meat of the promises. Christ has borne our sicknesses. Christ has carried our sorrows. He who spared not His own Son will He not also with Him freely give you all things? That "all things" does not always mean deliverance from the trial, but it most certainly means grace to endure it, and a weight of glory yet to be revealed that makes the present affliction light and momentary.
You are not a sojourner in the household of faith, not a hired servant who has no right to the family meal. If you have laid hold of Jesus Christ, then the fatted calf is for you, the bread of heaven is your daily portion. Come then, and eat. Come not because you feel worthy, none is worthy. Come because He commands it and because your soul famishes without Him. And as you feed, you shall find strength to lift the spoon to your mother's lips one more time, and then another. The joy of the Lord shall be your strength, not your own determination. Your loved one who cares day and night, oh, what a picture of Christ's patient love she paints! But she too must eat, not merely serve. She must sit at His feet and take the living bread, or her own soul will faint within her.
Do not ask why this lingers. Do not say, "Could He not heal? Could He not restore appetite and strength in a moment?" He could, but He would not yet, and in that "would not" lies a deeper wisdom than all our questioning. He is teaching you to wait, and to wait is not to do nothing. Waiting upon God is an act of high and holy commerce. It is the soul leaning upon the Beloved, saying, "I will trust, and not be afraid." The little lad running back to the stairs to hear his mother's voice had not a presumptuous faith but a humble, childlike one. Deal with God as you would have your children deal with you. Take Him at His word.
Cling to this: the Shepherd is with you in the valley of the shadow. The rod and the staff, they comfort not by removing the shadow but by the presence of Him who holds them. And remember that none who feed upon Him shall be cast out. The eating of His flesh and drinking of His blood, that spiritual union with a whole Christ, is the guarantee that even as your outward nature wastes away, the inward nature is being renewed day by day. There is a promise that belongs not to the strong, not to the seemingly successful, but to the hungry: "They shall be filled." You are hungry now. Blessed are you. You shall be filled.