By Christa Barnet 
The CDC quietly changed its stance on autism and vaccines recently, saying, “studies supporting a link have been ignored by health authorities” (CDC, 2025), before sharing that a possibility might exist between infant vaccinations and autism diagnoses.
Meanwhile, here in North Texas, I am a mom of a son on the spectrum, wondering just why, precisely, autism has become the latest pawn on the proverbial political chessboard.
Our son is eight now, and for the last month or so, our family’s life has been in chaos. Between consistent dysregulation, constant crises, intense emotions, disruptions, and everything in between, we are in uncharted territory. And it’s exhausting, terrifying, defeating, demoralizing, and isolating.
I reached a point two days ago where I was crying out to Jesus that I have no more fight in me. The pattern we are in is untenable, unsustainable, and the “what if” terrifies me. But if we stop fighting, what will be left?
This world, the political landscape, is not a kind one, especially for those who are different. And I have no answers. Lately, I feel particularly hopeless. Especially when I see places that are supposed to put forth peer-reviewed science bowing to current climates.
I worry for our son’s immediate future. His future future. For the toll this beautiful, special boy with all of his God-given differences puts on our marriage, on my friendships, on his siblings.
I’m angry. At politicians who seem more worried about turning autism into a weapon than into tangibly helping those families affected by it. I’m just angry. My son tears and throws and yells and screams and runs. And now, in what feels like my very soul, I am doing all of that too. I want to rage and destroy and fight. Because I’m tired.
I feel guilty. I’m exhausted and feel so defeated. And the most ironic part? I feel guilty for even voicing that I am feeling all of those things.
Because my 8-year-old is beautiful. He’s the sweetest boy who is the best big brother. He’s the best teacher to his little cousins. He snuggles with his mama every night, and he loves his kitty cats. He is a beast at being a striker in soccer. He’s never met a tree stump he can’t out-axe, and he’s never met a sand box he has yet to bury himself in. He can do math like no one’s business and has reread the same book series so many times he can quote them to you. Our 8-year-old brings so much light to the world, but has just forgotten how to light his lamp recently.
And this mama is oh so weary. Because when the parents stop lighting the lamps, who is left? And when the parents are told it’s their fault the lamps are faulty to begin with? Well, where are we as a society?
I have no answers. And as a family, we keep on doing the next thing in front of us, setting our eyes on Jesus. Before our kids are ours, they are His. And as He promised in the Psalms, He will hold us fast in His mighty right hand.
So though we are sailing through uncharted waters and we know not where we will land, we do know Who holds us. Our hope is set on Jesus. And I know ultimately, it’s not me lighting my son’s lamp, it’s Him.
by Deidra Darst 
by Elizabeth North 
