As I contemplated the creation of this blog and all that I dreamed would come to life through it, there are a couple of things I hoped to see happen. First, a place for me, a pilgrim, to write my musings on life. Secondly, I wanted there to be a safe place for all of us to tell our stories, so what would be a better place to start, than to tell my own story.

So, here goes…

Yes, I was born a child of the 60’s. Just the term “the 60’s” conjures up many an image of flower power, love, hippies and the like. The 60’s were also filled with war, turmoil, drugs and family disconnect. As much as I longed for the former, my childhood was filled with the latter. Born in 1964 in the city of Toronto Ontario Canada to John and Arlene Barclay, I think I landed smack dab in the middle of turmoil. I suppose in many ways I was like any child of that time. There are numerous photos of a happy young boy sitting on Santa’s lap, trick or treating or sunny days at the beach. But that was just a facade, for if you were able to pull back the curtain, you would have seen a much darker reality. The reality was an early childhood filled with anger, confusion, violence and divorce. My mother; oh I loved her, as far as I was concerned, the sun would rise and set upon her. She did have one secret, one so unfathomable, nobody dared mention it. My mom was affected by bipolar disorder. In today’s understanding, the veil that shrouds mental health is slowly being pulled back. But in the 60’s that was a topic that no one ventured to mention. In much of today’s western culture, we rally against stigma in all its forms including mental health, but in the 60’s and 70’s, stigma was the norm and compassion was the extreme. So you can well imagine what it must have been for her trying to navigate the already confusing era of the 60’s and then add bipolar to the mix. I know my mom tried but I remember her mostly being sad and afraid, oh but I loved her.

Now my father, on the other hand, he was a very angry man with a very violent temperament. He would often come home either drunk, angry or a combination of both, and if things weren’t exactly as he wanted them to be, well there was hell to pay, and I guess you can imagine who were the ones required to pay, yup me and mom. Much of my early childhood memories are filled with images of intense anger exploding into violence as I witnessed my mother being beaten to the point of being bloodied, bruised and battered under the hand of a cruel tyrant, otherwise known as my father. I remember spending much of my time when he was home hiding under my bed because at least that was a safe place to imagine a world where all was well and at peace. Well, that world of peace did finally come in the form of my father leaving us. I know for many that is the signal of the beginning of the end, but as far as I was concerned the door couldn’t hit him hard enough on the way out. So at last, there was peace. Now it was just mom and me, and once again the sun rose and set upon her face once more, that is until one day I remember all too well, but still don’t understand.

One morning I woke up and the day was not unlike any other, that is except for the suitcase. I looked down at that suitcase and then looked up to the eyes of my mother and said: ” What’s that for Mom.” She looked down and told me that ” I was leaving to live with another family. ” My heart hit the floor. I choked back the tears and asked what any 5-year-old boy would ask, “why?” Her answer was short but to the point, ” because I need to go to the hospital.” I was then told to go get a few of my favorite toys because the man would be coming soon to pick me up. What man, where am I going and why?. All questions that were far too great for a child of my limited years to comprehend. So I went on my errand of finding toys. There was only one that I wanted, my beloved teddy bear. To my great disappointment and confusion, I was told to pick something else, anything but that bear. So I went and retrieved the remainders of my Halloween candy, at least there was still something sweet in my life.

So the knock came at the door and it was ” The Man ” that I was told was going to take me away. The man, by the way, was Mr. Forester from the Children’s Aid, he was the Social Worker that was assigned to my care. As the years went by, Mr. Forester became someone I grew very close to. When I heard that he was coming for a visit, I was very happy because I loved being with him, he made me feel very special. But for now, he was taking me to my new home.
New home, I had no concept of what that even meant. For me, there was no way to make any sense of these bundled, mixed up emotions that were coming at me faster than a child’s understanding could grasp. For the first time in my life, I was leaving the city and all that was familiar and going into the unknown otherwise known as the country.
As we left the city for the open spaces of the country, I was seeing fields and farm animals, I’ve never seen such amazing creatures, it was all so foreign to me. Then we made a turn off the highway onto a dirt farm road, I asked Mr. Forester where we were going. He turned to me as he pointed and said: ” do you see that house over there, that’s your new home.” My heart was filled with so much excitement at this new adventure, but deeper inside I was filled with so much fear that I wanted to hide and cry, but I didn’t because as I was told throughout my childhood, “Big boys don’t cry.” So I did what I always learned to do, stuff it down where no one could see it and try as best as I could to move on.

As I stepped out of the vehicle I, saw two beasts running towards me. I had no idea what they were, but as they jumped up on me and licked my face, something inside told me that this was good, very good. By the way, I’m sure you’ve guessed that they were the family dogs, but up until then, I had never even known what a dog was. As a result of that first encounter with those dogs, I have always had a special place in my heart for animals. Now, before I could get to the front door, it opened and a lady was standing there, welcoming me in. Mrs. McKenna, who I now affectionately call mom. She lead me inside and with Mr. Forester, showed me around my new home. In one room I was met by a little girl, she was just two years old at the time. I was told her name is Shannon. She too with the passage of time, I now call my favorite sister,; ok she’s my only sister but just the same.

It was all too wonderful and terrifying at the same time. The house was so big, there had to be more people that lived here than just the two of them. That question was soon answered by the rumble of a school bus and the bustle of three boys racing into the house. As you can well imagine, those boys, Neil, Sean and Joe quickly became my brothers. Still in a state of shock at the prospect of not only having a new home as well as a new family, the initial adjustment was not an easy one. What a huge change this was for me. From just me and my mom to a new group of people who I now call family. But something was still missing. Wasn’t there a dad in this family or were all families like that, just a mother and some kids? That misconception was soon to be erased by the thunderous shouts of “Dads home, Dads home.” Everyone rushed to the door to greet Dad. Me, I was in the other room terrified, for my previous experience taught me that a dad was someone who beat you and was always angry. As he came into the room, I stood there very nervous, imagining all sorts of evil this man called dad was capable of. Instead, I was met with a kind handshake and a kind yet strong voice who introduced himself to me and asked me my name and then we sat down and talked for a while as I asked him question after question. This was so foreign to me, I never before had a man who treated me with such respect. Everything seemed so complete. I now had a new home with two dogs, two cats and until I could be reunited with my mother, a new family. Or was it complete? That fear in me did not want to leave easily, and as the days became weeks and the weeks months, I was always waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. This fear formed many of my perceptions of what a family is like, therefore not allowing me for many years later to be a part of this new family, that with the passage of time, became and still is my family. I remember though at first, how hard it was to fit in. Coupled with my fear, I was waiting at the time to be reunited with my mom. But on August 28, 1971, that dream came crashing to the ground with the news that my mom died of cancer. At six years of age, I knew that she was gone, but I didn’t have a clear concept of death. I still, somewhere deep within me hoped that one day I would see her again, but she was gone. That reality too invaded my heart two years later. Nothing could erase the swiftness of that blow, but at least it was softened by the arrival of my half brother Stephen. Stephen was born to my mom and her first husband, but after they broke up and my mother met my biological father, he wanted nothing to do with Stephen, so he went to live with our grandparents. But when my adoptive parents were presented with the idea of having Stephen to be a part of the family also, the answer was yes. It was so great to be with Stephen again, at last, someone familiar that shared and understood my past.
One Saturday morning, I woke up and my first thoughts were of my mom. It was at this point that I finally grasped the reality that she was dead and she was gone. This was the first time I actually mourned her death. I cried so hard that morning. As I cried into my pillow, each painful sob came flooding over the other. Sadly, I cried into my pillow as a way of keeping the sounds of my cries to myself. So there I lay, alone, drenched in my sorrow, because I didn’t want anyone else to know I was crying for fear of thinking others would call me stupid for not knowing the reality of my mother’s death.

In some ways, this one event could sum up my child and teen years. What I learned from my biological father is that nobody cares and that the world is a very scary, dangerous place, therefore when the scary stuff came my way, I was on my own. So although my circumstances changed both geographically as well as relationally, those lessons ingrained into my soul earlier on, stayed with me, in part if not completely, because I believed them, I believed I was useless, dumb, and that I didn’t matter to anyone but my mom, and she was gone. It’s amazing the power of the words we speak to one another, either for life or for death; as for me, I now choose LIFE. But at that young impressionable period in my life, I believed everything that was told to me, which once again shaped the direction of my life. Through a life of believing the wrong things about myself, I thought that I had no viable skills to offer the world, so I always took the lowest type of occupations that had the least degree of risk associated with it. And I suppose that pattern would continue to repeat itself, that is until I joined the Canadian Army, as strange as it may sound, this was the place where I found myself. Suddenly, I was in a place where my past no longer mattered, all that mattered was moving forward. So in this environment, I was able to thrive personally and professionally, but the specters of my past continued to haunt me in other areas of my life. Through a series of very difficult relational problems, I found myself questioning the age-old question, Am I worth it? As I went on this quest for validity, I found myself smack in the face of the cross of Jesus Christ.
It was here that I found that my value was not wrapped up into my abilities or accomplishments. Instead, I found that I had an inherent value that existed even before I existed. That value is simply in my being a child of God. This was indeed good news, so that night in February 1991, I repented of my former life and embraced the new life given to me through the sacrifice made for me by Jesus on the cross. As I examined my life, I left the military and joined a missionary group called YWAM or Youth With A Mission. Thus I embarked on a new adventure and left my life in Kingston Ontario and moved to Garden Valley Texas. What a time this was in my life. A part of the entrance requirements into YWAM is that everyone is required to complete a DTS or Discipleship Training School. A DTS is a three-month intensive time of focusing on nothing else but your relationship with Jesus. Here, I found a purpose for my life and it was not about what I do, but instead, discovering the freedom of who I was always meant to be through Jesus. The three-month training period was followed up with an almost two-month outreach into a foreign land to bring that which we learned during the previous three months to any of the people that we would go to. Our outreach took us traveling to various churches in the USA to our final destination of the town of Tuapse Russia on the coast of the Black Sea. I had an awesome time there. Not only was I able to share the love of Jesus with the people of southern Russia, but Jesus shared His life with me also. Leaving Russia was a something very hard to do, but I knew that there were many adventures before me. Once I returned to the USA, I decided that I was going to stay in Texas. It really was a great place to live, with some really great people. So for close to four years, I called Garden Valley Texas home. This was a real time of restoration for me, sort of like being in Spiritual Rehab. Those lies that were spoken over and believed by me were powerful and did not want to let go so easily. So for four years I was mentored into, and whatever I received, I gave away in the form of mentoring others as well. What a time of healing, but with healing comes a time to test your wings.

So in the summer of 1995, I moved back to Canada. Coming back to Canada after seven years of living in close community, first in the military and then in missions was at best, difficult. Although being with family and old friends is usually a good thing, this time it was like being in a foreign country again, but without a translator. This was a very tough transition period and many times I questioned the validity of the lessons I learned from God in the previous four years. It was tough to not give into the cycle of defeat that once characterized my life, simply I was lonely. Eventually, I did find a good church where I was able to make some good friendships with some very good people. In fact, it was at the birthday party of one of those good friends that my life took a dramatic turn. As I went to this party, I had no expectations beyond wishing a good friend a happy birthday and to celebrate with her. When I looked around the room to see who else was there that I knew, I saw an unfamiliar face, but thought nothing of it. Eventually, I went over to this stranger to introduce myself, as this is the polite thing to do after all. Once our introductions were made, I went back to be with my friends. Yet over the din of conversation in the room, I overheard someone say, ” So Tammy, do you think you’ll ever go back to Russia?” Well with my previous experience in Russia, I was instantly intrigued and wanted to know more. So I waited for an appropriate moment and said hello again and asked her about her experience in Russia. It turned out that we both had very similar experiences and that we both hoped to one day return. For the next while, we talked on and on about our mutual experiences, but a curious thing happened. I soon discovered that I was really enjoying our conversation, and for much more than just talking about Russia. I was really enjoying talking with her. So after we exhausted every topic pertaining to Russia, we began to talk about many other things as wellI. For hours we monopolized each others time, but we didn’t seem to mind. By the end of the night, I asked her if I could call her sometime. She enthusiastically gave me her number and with that, we parted our ways for the evening. The next afternoon being a Sunday, I wanted to call this new friend of mine, but thought better of it, after all, I didn’t want to appear desperate. Eventually, my emotions won out over my logic ( we can’t always be like Spock ) and I called her. I think her phone only rang once before she answered. It turned out that she was waiting for me to call. So again, we spoke for hours and well to make a long story short, two months later we were engaged and five months after that we were married. It’s been18 years since, and the fairytale is still being written.

Remarkably, Tammy and I were able to return to Russia. Six months after our Marriage with the assistance of our church, Tammy and I left our friends and families and landed in the city of St Petersburg to join the YWAM campus there.Some would say that six months after our marriage is far too soon to be living such an undertaking as that, but we have always had a sense of adventure in us. Our time in St Petersburg did not disappoint for it certainly was an adventure. During our time there, Tammy was enrolled as a student in the DTS, and I was one of the school staff. Much of my role in that capacity was occupied in attending lectures or staff meetings, but the part I enjoyed the most was counseling students. It was so rewarding to see some of these students from all over the world to get it, whatever their “it” is. After our initial six month commitment, we returned to our church in Canada. At this time, we gave a report as to any further involvement on ours as well as the church’s part. After what seemed like many meetings and presentations, it was decided that we would not be returning to St Petersburg, although the church did continue giving mentoring and financial assistance to the ongoing work that is being accomplished. At first, that decision was a hard pill to swallow, but with time, we were able to see the wisdom in that decision.

Now that we were back in Canada, we able to take some much needed time to focus on just us, and that is just what we did. Taking the advice of a mentor, I enrolled in college. In college, I was able to pursue and eventually fulfill my dream of becoming a paramedic. This truly was a fulfillment of all that I knew I was made to be. It has been said before, “Don’t ask yourself, what does the world need? Instead ask yourself, what makes you come alive and go do that, for what the world needs are people that have come alive.” To be a paramedic in its self, was not the fulfillment of my hopes and dreams, instead, what makes me come alive is helping people, and being a paramedic certainly fit the bill. Just before my first year at college started, one of my wife’s dreams came true, she was going to be a Mom. I have to admit, the thought of going to school full-time while starting a family was a bit daunting, but with much prayer, tons of encouragement and a thirst for adventure, I plunged in with both feet and became a student and a dad at the same time. So during my second week, my first son Evan was born. Now if that wasn’t enough adventure, just before my final year in college was about to commence, Meagan, my first daughter was born. At this point, I was racing to the finish line and to graduate and become a paramedic, because now I have a family to support.

Upon graduation, the first paramedic job I took was with Northwest EMS in a small former mining town in Northern Ontario called Pickle Lake. Pickle Lake is known as the most northern town in Ontario that can be reached year round by road. This town is quite isolated from the rest of civilization, and that’s a good thing, for otherwise, what we call civilization would most likely mar the natural beauty of all that the north has to offer. The people of Pickle Lake were also a gem to be mined as well. We were able to quickly form new friendships with some of the people there, and now that we’re no longer there, we still have been able to maintain those friendships. Pickle Lake did present one challenge that perhaps we as a young family was not prepared to face, and that was the isolation. That same isolation that provided us with incredible sights such as the boreal forest, the northern lights and a people of great hospitality, it also isolated us from services that we grew accustomed to, such as not having to drive four plus hours to go grocery shopping. And now my wife was now pregnant with our third child and the nearest hospital was two hours away. So after I made a few inquiries we once again moved back to southern Ontario to the small city of St Thomas where I began a new start with Thames EMS. Although I must admit, there’s still a part of me that misses living in Pickle Lake. Being back in southern Ontario was good. It was nice to be near family again as well as the services that we grew accustomed to, like a hospital where my third child, Nolan was born. So here we are, I have my dream job of helping others, my wife and I with our three children, Life was good, really good, but there was still something that tugged at my heart.They say that you can take the boy out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the boy. So after much discussion and prayer, I once again joined the Canadian Army and became an Army medic.

After I finished my initial training to apply my paramedic knowledge and skills to a military environment we were posted to Canadian Forces Base Borden. And yes you guessed it, our fourth child Amy was born. Life was real good, really good.
Now one thing that comes when serving one’s country is the strong probability of having to serve in far off lands. For me, that was to be in Afghanistan, where I served in the multinational medical hospital at the Kandahar Airfield or KAF for short. Of course, I looked forward to the adventure and the service I would offer, but I must admit, the thought of having to leave my family for six months or more was a lot to accept, especially with, yes you guessed it, my wife being pregnant with our fifth child. The thought of what felt like abandoning my wife to raise our four kids while pregnant with our fifth was too much, but I knew I had to go. I remember one time in particular where I was laying it all out before God that I asked: “why are You sending me, You, above all, know that this is too much for my wife and me.” God’s answer was swift but gentle. ” I have called you to pray over the nation of Afghanistan, as for your family, they are My family too, trust Me and I will take care of them.” So with maybe a bit of kicking and screaming, I went off to war and trusted my family in the hands of our loving God.

When I first arrived in Kandahar, well do you remember in the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy looked around and said: “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” That certainly was an apt description for me as I first walked out of the Dutch military aircraft onto the soil of Afghanistan. Nothing was familiar, not the sounds, smells nor the sights. This was definitely a country that offered what I have always longed for, adventure. I really did feel like Bilbo Baggins as he was running off, “I’m off on an adventure.” That excitement though was short lived for on my first shift at the hospital, my first patient that our team attended to was a young child who was caught in the crossfire and had a bullet wound to his head. I was prepared for soldiers being wounded, but nothing quite prepared me for the children, so many children that came through our doors. As for this child, we saved him and he was able to go home to the loving arms of his mother. There were much more similar stories of patients coming in with multiple injuries. Thankfully, we were able to save most of those who came through our doors, but unfortunately, despite our greatest efforts, we lost some too. Yet even in death, each patient was treated with the utmost dignity and respect. Every life mattered to us, for each life is important.
There were days, days when it just wouldn’t stop. Even as we would be finishing with one patient, there would always be more wounded. Sometimes it felt like we were pulling them out of the meat grinder, as we looked in the face of death and said: “not this one, life’s not finished with him yet.” We may not have been on the front lines of the battlefield, but did we ever fight for each and every life.

I remember the day I left Afghanistan to go home. I didn’t sleep at all that night, I was so excited to see my family again. When I landed at Pearson International Airport in Toronto I could barely contain my excitement when once again, I was reunited with my family. Talk about being happy, we couldn’t get enough of each other as we hugged and kissed again. But as time went by, everything wasn’t like it once was. I was finding myself to be more numb and irritable. Where once there was understanding and patience, now there was just irritation. My wife probably noticed within the first 24hrs of being home, that something wasn’t quite right and that I had changed. Being a medic, I suspected what was going on but just assumed that I would eventually get over it and get better. But with the passage of time, it didn’t go away, so after years of hiding what I already knew but didn’t want to admit, I was diagnosed with PTSD as a result of my tour in Afghanistan. I’d like to say that it’s been easy, but my mother taught me not to lie. Sure there has been some good days but a lot of not so good days or weeks or months also. I’m still in the military, for now, that is but probably within a year, I will be medically released due to breaching the Universality of Service, or in other words, “if you’re not deployable, you’re not employable.” But that’s alright, I have changed and in many respects, for the better. I will always be proud to have served my country and to have done my part in Afghanistan, hey, after all, we saved lives. Yet, the truth is, although I will always be a warrior and will continue to fight for others, being a soldier is no longer me, that chapter of my life has turned. I have no idea what the next chapter will be like, but I can tell you this, it’s going to be one heck of a story.

Gerry Barclay