The cry of a parent whose child is in the grip of something loud and abusive is not a small cry. It is the sound of a heart being torn apart. What you are feeling right now, the desperation, the helplessness, the urgent plea for God to act immediately, is a place the Lord knows well. He is not offended by your desperation. In fact, sometimes He allows us to be squeezed into a corner precisely because He knows that is where we will finally look away from every other shadow of help and fix our eyes completely on His Son.
I think of a man who once came to Jesus because his little daughter was dying. He was a man of some standing, but none of his position mattered in that moment. He was reduced to one thing: a desperate father begging at the feet of Jesus. He had run out of his own resources. There was a crowd, there were delays, and soon messengers came to tell him the worst had happened. To human eyes, it was over. But Jesus had a purpose in the delay. He was drawing the man past hope in a mere healing, into the deeper place of trusting the Lord when everything seemed lost. Your situation may feel like you have already received the bad news, like you are standing there with the blood drained from your face, certain that it is too late. But it is precisely there, when all other strength is gone, that we learn what it means for His strength to be made perfect.
You are right to call on the name of Jesus. You are right to ask for His full control. Do not be discouraged if the answer does not look the way you expect, or if it comes in a way that first requires you to sit still while the storm continues to rage around you. We have a habit of asking God for help and then immediately trying to help Him out, as if His arm were too short. Trusting Him means letting go of the frantic need to fix it ourselves. Egypt’s help, the arm of flesh, will always prove vain and to no purpose. Your own striving to manage this, to quiet the yelling through your own force or fear, will exhaust you and produce only a shadow of peace. But when we stop trying to be our own deliverer, we find that He is all-sufficient.
Remember the woman whose daughter was grievously vexed by a devil. She was an outsider and had no claim to the promises. She cried out for mercy, and the Lord’s silence must have been deafening. Yet she did not walk away. She pressed in, abandoning every title she thought she needed, and simply worshipped Him, saying, “Lord, help me.” That is the prayer He is waiting to hear from you. Not a treatise on your own worthiness, not a detailed plan for how He should act, but the raw, honest cry of a soul that knows there is only one source of deliverance.
Your daughter’s loud and abusive behavior is not just a behavioral problem; it is a sign of a deeper bondage. You are not wrestling against flesh and blood. The Lord’s response to the desperate parent is not cold indifference. He is drawing you to Himself through this. He allows the desperation so you will be crowded to Christ. So keep coming. Keep worshipping. Keep saying, “Lord, help me.” He hears the grief of a father’s heart, a heart bent low by love for a child. He is at work even in the silence, and His word is still powerful enough to command peace and wholeness into the most chaotic life.