The end is nigh . . .

But not too literally, I hope.

However, the end of my sabbatical journey is much closer - within the next 24 hours or so.

I am planning to travel to Windmill End on the Dudley No.2 Canal today, and to morrow Gwyneth will join me for a few days holiday together until the weekend. So, as holiday time has not officially been part of the journey blog, I will bring it to an end with today's entry.

Things to do now - more later.

Timely attention . . .

As I mentioned last Friday, one of the little jobs I have been trying to get finished before the boat journey ends is to deal with some breakouts of rust on the roof. I have reached the stage where half of the twentyfour or so holes I made have been filled, rubbed down and had an undercoat of paint. I now need some more wet & dry sanding paper, and that means getting to a hardware store.

So, I left Alvechurch at about 7.00am and headed towards Birmingham. I stopped for water (for the boat) and coffee (for me) at King's Norton at 8.50am.

On my way again after 15 minutes for the stretch into Gas Street Basin.

I was able to find a vacant visitor mooring on the BCN side of the Worcester Bar (just where the boat with the open cratch is on the extreme right in this photo), and

was tied up by 11.30am.

One of the neighbouring resident boat owners offered me a lift to the nearest Homebase to buy the wet & dry, and I caught a bus back into the city and walked up to Broad Street and back to the basin, returning by 12.45pm.

So, with 12 filled holes still to smooth off, I started work within the next 15 minutes - and so did the rain - heavily! The best laid plans . . . and all that.

Fortunately the rain only lasted an hour or so, and I was able to complete the smoothing and get an undercoat on by 4.30pm.

Old and new . . .

Alvechurch Church Centre consists of a medieval church building and a modern church hall named The Ark, which is "docked" alongside the church itself. It is an extremely well-thought out design, and is well-used. A very clever marrying of old and new.

I moored by the boatyard yesterday afternoon with the intention of staying until Monday morning so that I could worship here and perhaps get a ring on the 12cwt eight. As it turned out I was able to do both - twice!

For those who might be interested, five of the eight bells are original, dating from 1711, but they are in need of some tender loving care. For a start, they have never been quarter-turned, so the sound bows are really badly worn, especially on the tenor. There is a plan and appeal afoot to make repairs, and they have already raised some £45,000 of the £60,000 needed. The old and the new have not quite come together yet, but hopes are high for next year.

Whilst I was having lunch on Chyandour, another boat went by looking for a mooring, and it had a bell, wheel and stay motif on the side, so I made a suitable comment with the result that the couple moored adjacent to me and we all went to ring at Evensong. The locals were very appreciative, as they rarely get the eight ringing in the evening.

One of the books I have been reading on this journey is "The Wounded Healer" by Henri Nouwen. In this book, the writer offers a radical fresh interpretation of modern ministry that encompasses all who follow Christ, not just those who are 'professionals'. One of the insights he offers is that those who minister are called to identify the suffering in their own hearts and make that recognition the starting point for their service. They must become more open as fellow human beings, with the same wounds and suffering as those they seek to serve.

He writes, "forgiveness is only real for him who has discovered the weakness of his friends and the sins of his enemy in his own heart and is willing to call every human being his brother."

It seems to me that this requires the divine grace of humility in great abundance, something of which I need to know more, so that the old may become new in me.

For ever and ever . . .

I thought you might like a couple of shots of just a small part of the largest flight of locks in the UK.

Admittedly this first one is facing downhill from where I have come and the second one looking uphill to where I am going. Just imagine this pattern being repeated for 30 locks in just over 2 1/4 miles!

It was really magical just after sunrise as I started to lock up. There was mist rising off the water and a watery sun in the sky.

I did not expect to meet any other boaters this early in the day, but I did have the benefit of already empty locks, which saved a bit of time. By the time I was leaving the top lock at 11.10am I had been journeying for 5 hours - that works out at 10 minutes a lock - not bad really.

At the top of the flight I stopped for a well-deserved coffee and decided to walk through the fields to the very impressive parish church. I was pleasantly surprised to find it open and I had a quick look round. Among the items of note was the list of incumbents which indicated that one had been Vicar there for 62 years!

Quite appropriate, I suppose, at one end of a flight of locks that also seemed to go on for ever!

After this break for lunch I started off on the short journey to Alvechurch, where I may stay a couple of nights.

Festering wounds . . .

I finished yesterday at Tibberton, a typical Worcestershire farming village that seems a world away from Worcester itself, but is only a couple of miles to the North East.

Today I am planning to go a far as Stoke Pound another village that boaters through the ages have looked forward to arriving at. It marks the upper end of the Astwood and Stoke flights of locks (six locks each) and the lower end of the massive Tardebigge flight of 30 locks.

There is a much-used pub at Stoke Pound - fancy that!

I actually arrived at Stoke Pound in the early afternoon and set about some necessary paint repairs on Chyandour's roof. When it was repainted a couple of years ago, a number of rust breakouts were not really dealt with properly, and they have erupted again. So it has been necessary to scrape them out to metal (rust) level and treat with Fertan. When this has done its work I will fill the craters to raise the surface to the current paint level again, and then prime and top coat. Hopefully that will sort the problem out.

Doing this got me thinking about how often in life we cover up things that have not really been properly dealt with, only to have them break out and bite us on the bottom again, usually when we least expect them, and often many years later.

One of the most insidious of these is the inability to forgive. Whether it is something monstrous or seemingly insignificant, they both have the ability to paralyse or so control our whole being that we can end up bitter or constrained by feelings that we do not really understand. Not was it for nothing that our Lord taught that we are to forgive to the uttermost, just as we have been forgiven.

It makes you think (2) . . .

Today's thought came about as I journeyed through and around north Worcester.

I left the railway bridge mooring on the River Severn at about 7.15am and made my way downstream to the huge barge locks that give access to Diglis Basin and the Worcester and Birmingham Canal beyond. By the time I had locked up these two locks and made my way across the basin it was 9.00am and the darkening clouds began to let go of the burden they were carrying!

It wasn't a full soaking, but came quite close. Anyway, it was as I was travelling up this next bit of canal, and looking at the row upon row of back-to-back terraced housing, that it struck me quite suddenly as to just how privileged I am.

Back in 1979, when we were on home service with CMS, I recall saying that I ought never to become a clergyman because it would immediately give me a house and job for life, and that would be the wrong reason for doing it. Circumstances changed over the next few years and, when the call did come, I recall saying to God that I was concerned that I might accept for the wrong reason. He said to me that the concern was right in 1979 and the time would not have been right, but 1983 was different, and the time was right.

In some ways I feel guilty about the privileges I have - yet I know that I have been allowed them, even though I haven't earned them or deserved them. It is up to me to ensure that those who do not have such privileges are enabled to live fulfilled lives with whatever they do have, and wherever they are. To help them to know that Peter was right when he wrote:-

You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

1 Peter 2.9-10

It makes you think (1) . . .

The weather forecasters promised that today could be very hot - and they were right. Although it was a bit overcast first thing, the sun did its work and, by lunchtime, I had begun to swelter.

I set off from Kinver fairly early as I planned to get to Worcester if at all possible. There were not many boats moving at 6.15am but, within an hour or so I began to meet traffic coming up from Stourport and joined a queue working down towards it. One of the boats in front of me was named Rivendell.

We didn't get to meet up fully until locking down into the River Severn itself when I discovered that they too were hoping to moor overnight at Worcester.

At the tiller was 11 year old Sam, with his great-uncle by his side, thoroughly enjoying himself. Nothing out of the ordinary here - except that Sam is living with Cerebral Palsy.

It takes the best part of 45 minutes to lock down the two staircases onto the river, so Rivendell was well on its way and out of sight by the time I got through at 1.00pm. The river was not running any faster than usual, and there was only a bit of a headwind, so I made good progress and, although I had to stand off for a few minutes at all three of the river locks, I made it to Worcester by 3.55pm.

There are some free moorings here just by the rowing club, and a very convenient space one boat away from where Rivendell had moored, so I winded Chyandour (always approach a river mooring from downstream) and moored for the night, just down towards the railway bridge in the background of the picture.

David (Sam's great-uncle) gave me a wave of welcome, and I went to have a chat with him, and found myself being invited to share their evening meal later, which invitation I was happy to accept. It turned out that the family is within the Methodist tradition, and it was really pleasant to share a meal in circumstances like this and after a thanksgiving prayer before eating.

If you have read this far and want some more, you will have to come back later, as I need now to get moving! (I am writing the above early on Thursday morning.)

It made me think just how Gwyneth and I have been blessed in our health and in that of our children and grandchildren. I like to think that, in circumstances similar to Sam's, we too would have found the strength to be as positive as he and his family are. His mother was told he would never talk and, whilst it takes time to understand him, those close to him are able to make out what it is that he is saying. All this due to Mum's refusal to believe the doctor and the unstinting patience of both her and Sam himself.

There are, of course, lots of Sams around. I met many of them at the Children's Hospital in Birmingham during my time as Chaplain there, and I met many Mums, Dads and Siblings who, once the initial shock and disbelief about the child's illness had subsided, set to and made the very best of terrible situations.

God is love: and he enfoldeth

all the world in one embrace;

with unfailing grasp he holdeth

every child of every race.

And when human hearts are breaking

under sorrow's iron rod,

then they find that self-same aching

deep within the heart of God.

Here we go again . . .

The next two weks combine the end of my official holiday, and the end of my sabbatical. So, I am travelling on Chyandour again, this time planning to go to Stourport and then onto the River Severn.

I got away from the mooring just before 11.00am and had a very uneventful trip as far as Kinver, arriving about 4.15pm. The weather was cloudy, but there was no sign of any rain.

There are quite a few boats around, and my object of chatting with boat hirers should be easy to achieve.