We all carry hidden stories. At times they are quiet, but at others they pulse in our blood, longing to be told. This is mine.

Nikki-images-110.jpg

My name’s Nikki, nearly-never Nicole. I’m Australian, we like to shorten things around here. I’m a wife, writer, unexpected mum of three, once-upon-a-time academic, seaside dweller, and Jesus-follower with treasure in a clay jar. My jar has lots of cracks. I use words to trace these out, and to practice leaning into light. I’d love for you to join me on this journey.

‘Stories are verbal acts of hospitality.’

Eugene H. Peterson

You won’t find any how to’s hiding here. Nor will I add any more to do’s to your already busy list. I can’t make you a meal (spoiler: I’m a terrible cook. It will probably burn) but I can offer you my stories as companion for whatever journey you are currently on. My prayer is that the words you meet here smile gently at you, and remind you that it’s going to be okay, even when it seems like it isn’t. At their best, stories are vehicles of companionship and grace. My hope is that you find that here.

Nikki images-5

Recent Posts

From the Blog

Faith

On Sea Changes and Souls at Sea

We recently made a sea-change. Sounds exciting doesn’t it, the stuff of reality TV and life adventures. Actually, it was more like a series of

Read More
writing

Some Exciting News

The sad news is, it’s the end of an era. My firstborn baby-blog, the one I called Spilled Milk and Sunsets, the one I dreamt of, nurtured, and birthed with trembling, awkward hope into the online world, has grown-up, left home, or whatever it is that firstborn blogs do when they are no longer with us.

The good and very exciting news is that it has a sibling, a big sister if you will!

Read More
Seasonal

Adding up to 40

I am not a ‘numbers’ person. I failed my Year Twelve maths half-yearly because I preferred to read the examples rather than practice them. Then my parents hired a handsome, exceptionally tall swiss math’s tutor called Kris, and I sat down and worked. Sort of. And yet, despite my arithmetic deficiencies, for the last few weeks, I’ve found myself circling equations in my head, drawing different pathways and combinations, all with one terminus. Forty.

Read More
anxiety

And he saw me

Late one Friday afternoon a couple of weeks ago, we went walking by the Brisbane river. Such a simple sentence, right? I have loved walking since I trailed alongside my dad as a kid on his morning suburban stretches, air infused with birdsong, drenched in fresh, untarnished light. But, in my younger years declaring ‘walking’ as my chosen sport seemed weak and non-declarative. In these later ‘mumming’  years, I’m an aspirational walker. Just leaving the house can require athletic commitment. Due to an interstate move, a new job for Dr M, a new school year, new virus’, new discoveries, not to mention the transplanting of old fragilities in new settings, and a pounding sun, well, I haven’t walked much at all so far in our time here.

Read More
Amazing Grace

How can I love you more?

It was mid-1990. I remember it, in a pleasant, hazy sort of way. The Winter Olympics played on a small square television set (who knew then that flat screens were so much cooler), I was acquainted with the thrill of my favourite books, and the secure encirclement of parents who seemed intuitively to understand how to make us their trusted friends.

Read More
Faith

On Sea Changes and Souls at Sea

We recently made a sea-change. Sounds exciting doesn’t it, the stuff of reality TV and life adventures. Actually, it was more like a series of

Read More
writing

Some Exciting News

The sad news is, it’s the end of an era. My firstborn baby-blog, the one I called Spilled Milk and Sunsets, the one I dreamt of, nurtured, and birthed with trembling, awkward hope into the online world, has grown-up, left home, or whatever it is that firstborn blogs do when they are no longer with us.

The good and very exciting news is that it has a sibling, a big sister if you will!

Read More
Seasonal

Adding up to 40

I am not a ‘numbers’ person. I failed my Year Twelve maths half-yearly because I preferred to read the examples rather than practice them. Then my parents hired a handsome, exceptionally tall swiss math’s tutor called Kris, and I sat down and worked. Sort of. And yet, despite my arithmetic deficiencies, for the last few weeks, I’ve found myself circling equations in my head, drawing different pathways and combinations, all with one terminus. Forty.

Read More
anxiety

And he saw me

Late one Friday afternoon a couple of weeks ago, we went walking by the Brisbane river. Such a simple sentence, right? I have loved walking since I trailed alongside my dad as a kid on his morning suburban stretches, air infused with birdsong, drenched in fresh, untarnished light. But, in my younger years declaring ‘walking’ as my chosen sport seemed weak and non-declarative. In these later ‘mumming’  years, I’m an aspirational walker. Just leaving the house can require athletic commitment. Due to an interstate move, a new job for Dr M, a new school year, new virus’, new discoveries, not to mention the transplanting of old fragilities in new settings, and a pounding sun, well, I haven’t walked much at all so far in our time here.

Read More
Amazing Grace

How can I love you more?

It was mid-1990. I remember it, in a pleasant, hazy sort of way. The Winter Olympics played on a small square television set (who knew then that flat screens were so much cooler), I was acquainted with the thrill of my favourite books, and the secure encirclement of parents who seemed intuitively to understand how to make us their trusted friends.

Read More