God and Wine

Early Monday morning--after getting off the phone with my therapist (Hey Girl!)--I put on my big girl pants, opened my laptop, and typed a letter to my bi-costal acting manager stating my departure from the industry and, thus, his management company. It's been a long time coming. As I've continued to grow in ministry, I've become more and more selective about the projects I've auditioned for, even turning down a few things here and there in order to focus on my "call." My manager is so sweet and supportive, and has stuck with me as I've wrestled with this call into ministry (since 2015). As doors have continued to open up in academia, ministry, and beyond, I thought it best to bow out gracefully (for now). I'm truly grateful to have been able to share my life with thousands of people across the world--to perform on tours and do shows in amazing cities. I am a better preacher and minister because of my wonderful experiences in the theatre. I st

Listen, Just because you are CAPABLE of doing 'abcxyz' does not mean it is CALLED FOR in a particular moment/setting/position. Always ask yourself: 1) Is this necessary? 2) Are my gifts being abused? 3) Is my spirit in alignment with what's being asked of me? I have many capabilities and I'm constantly learning to say "No." Because of my extensive performance background and various academic interests, I get asked to do many things that are sometimes intincing, sometimes annoying, yet often a departure from the tasks at hand. For example: I work at a church. I am temporarily over children's ministries. I preach from time to time and I teach often. What I do not do, however, on a regular or assigned basis is openly share my performance gifts. I quietly and subtly incorporate them into various parts of my ministry, but I was not hired to be a performer in this space, AND I AM OKAY WITH THAT! [ Read Blog on this! ] Thus, I've had to learn

When I was a kid, I used to travel with my mom to Toastmasters conferences. I went to Baton Rouge, Lafeyette, Atlanta, DC, Florida, down the street from the house, up the street from her job, everywhere . I heard some of the world's greatest speakers. I sat in many executive meetings (because my mom didn't wanna leave me in hotel rooms by myself...she watches too much Law and Order ) and I behaved quietly, pretending to doodle but really eavesdropping on conversations regarding new judging procedures and managing  leadership conflict (yes, grown people cat-fight🙀). I was present for speaking competitions that my mother judged, training seminars that my mother presented, and galas that I attended with my mother as her young, but show-stealingly adorable, date.👧🏽 And of course, my mother took Toastmasters home with her. Whenever I had to speak in church or prepare a speech for class, she mentored me. She made sure I had a bomb 💣acronym (she's obsessed with corny

I woke up around 5:30 am this morning, heartbroken for an ex-colleague who is struggling severely with his mental health and addiction. He is/was a literal genius, gifted so graciously and adventageously anointed. To witness his downward spiral via social media, broadcast for all the world to see, literally shook me outta my sleep. Life is hard 😔 and every once in a while, something reminds me to not take a sound mind for granted. I've had my battles-- my ups and downs-- my good days and my bad days. I've struggled with depression and anxiety, accompanied by over/under eating. I don't know drugs, but I've been acquainted with alcohol. I know heartbreak and heartache a little too well. I know disappointment hidden behind a fake smile. I know career successes met with personal failures. I know what's it's like to feel alone even in a crowd. Life is hard! When I was a kid, I used to always hear people in church talking about "Thank God for

I'm beginning a journey tomorrow. I'm excited and anxious-- Scared and fearless. I'm reconnecting with a part of me that's been drowning in things that don't aid my growth. I hope to find clarity, better health, and a new purpose that uncovers a joy that I've been dying to get in touch with. Stay tuned.

I'm embracing this new season of my life by being the bigger person. I know. I know. It's asking alot of some of you but there's something about following your heart, even when you know you won't get anything in return, that makes "being the bigger person" worth while. I know I may not get a response, but I'm gonna wish that person well anyway. I know I'll never see the fruit of my labors, but I'm going to give all I have anyway. Being the bigger person means releasing immaturity and pettiness. It means, pulling up your big person pants and offering something to someone who can't or won't offer you anything in return. Today, I was the bigger person. Last week, I was the bigger person. I will continue to be the bigger person because that's who I am. Nothing or no one will stop me from spreading love in this world. I'm grateful for the insight and for the ability to give. I'm grateful for the abundance. Mostly, I'm grateful f

I don't have a song for you today All I feel is black and blue Only pain and sorrow came this way I don't have a song for you I don't even know my name All I hear are minor chords All I feel is somber tunes But I -- I refuse to sing the blues I refuse to write another song about the troubles of my day I refuse to vent, so maybe I'll just scat my blues away It'll give me the words to say... I refuse to be angry I will turn my day around I will sing until my withered soul arises from the ground Not inspired. I'm just tired. And I don't have a song for you But I found a song me And it's come to set me free I refuse to sing the blues

Black woman          Black woman Black woman Why you gotta be so strong, huh ? What is it about your make up Your makeup           Your make up That makes you care so much That makes you love so deep Your black people? Black woman           Black woman Black.      Black.            Woman. Why you gotta go to war, huh ? Why you gotta wave the flag? What is it about your swag That speaks power in the midst of defeat?-- That undermines toxic masculinity, Even when it’s your brother? With your body You turn a pew into a pulpit-- A kitchen into a bible study-- Because your call for justice was never selfish. It was never exclusive. There is no cognitive dissonance in your           proclamation of freedom.      Black Woman Black Woman           Woman                Woman                     Woman What is it about the way you stir that cake batter in the basement that saves our souls long before the Black preacher man ever could? Black

Excerpt from  "When the Lilies Are Gone" :: a sermon given by Mia M. McClain at Fort Washington Collegiate Church, NYC, on April 15, 2018.  It appears that we are all coming down from the Easter high—the exuberance that surrounds celebrating the one on whom many of us center our faith. I know I am. Whew! Holy Week almost took me out. I didn’t recover until last Sunday. LOL But we’ve come down from the wonderful high of Resurrection Sunday— ·             Your seer sucker suits are in the dry cleaners now.  ·             You've weaned your children off of peeps and jelly beans and chocolate eggs. ·             Many your lilies have survived thus far—maybe not (if you're a poor plant owner,        like me, your lilies are probably on their way out.) But what happens when the lilies are gone? When the beautiful fabric that once draped this sanctuary has been taken down?  When the warmth of Spring is upon us, and our worship takes a backseat

I had a congregant pull me aside at church a few weeks ago to ask me a very urgent question. The senior pastor was out sick, the associate pastor was busy, and I had just preached. This urgent question was about her concerns for those who are cremated. "In the bible," she said, "it talks about Jesus coming back for us and raising us from the dead to ascend with him to heaven." "Okay," I replied, bemused and nervous about where this was going.  "But what about those who are cremated? How can Jesus raise them from their graves if they've been cremated." I wanted to laugh so hard, but I guess I'm a minister...or something. I replied to this concerned congregant with a carefully curated question. "I don't believe that the author meant for that to be literal. Jesus' return and the raising of the dead from their graves is a metaphorical synopsis." What I wanted to say is, "We will all be ashes

I preached my first public sermon on March 29, 2017. It was a total accident...at least that's what it felt like, but I'm sure God would argue otherwise. [ Read more about that experience and the after-effects here]   I was really emotional all day today. It's partially because I'm having an  issue of blood  😡, partially because I'm lonely, partially because it's Holy Week and I'm working a lot, partially because I'm approaching my 29th birthday, but mostly because today marks one year since I did this totally amazing and unexpected thing  in James Chapel at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Since then, I've preached 10 times. I've experimented with this thing  and explored my voice in more ways than I could've ever imagined. I've realized how much my acting training and career have helped me step into this thing  and I've embraced the bittersweet loneliness that comes along with this thing  (or at least I'm tryin

Viaggio Solenne Solemn Journey A Reflective Poem I walked across a turf of green And halted where I’d be unseen To snatch a look one final time Of all I was to leave behind The beckoning of a blackbird heard Ironic doves of white appeared I swiftly summoned my untamed herd My spirit pained, eternally seared Took one last look, or so I thought At fields of roses budding by At nectar craving bees and birds At obese clouds across the sky Took one last gasp, so I assumed Of Spanish oaks and olive trees Of planted fields of fresh grown corn Of sweetly sour strawberries The light was fading quickly out I felt a sense of urgency I moved toward the darkened clout I walked yet with insurgency Yet, then I stopped and moved away The coming of another day As gleam pierced through the gloom and shade I stared at death one final time, Yet, chose the path that life had made. (c) Mia Michelle McClain

While I was listening to the presentation about The Conversation Project , I started thinking about all the mistakes I’ve made in trying to have “the conversation” with my mother. As an only child of a single, aging woman, I'm well aware that I'm her next of kin and I’m afraid I’d be completely clueless if something tragic were to happen to her tomorrow. In the presentation, something came up about entering “the conversation” by talking about your wishes first. I totally did that wrong last December, but all is not lost. I know that her mausoleum plot is paid for. I remember her talking about that back when I was in middle school, primarily because she was a single parent (and an older parent) and didn’t want me to be scrambling for burial arrangements in the event of an untimely death ( is death ever timely? ). However, we haven’t recently discussed where that information lives.  Nonetheless, I decided to walk through some of the questions in the Conversation Project’s

i hear words that pierce me. staring at the lips of the person who utters them whilst trying to make sense of such a profoundly overwhelming statement. how shall i respond to such praise? what words could i bother to muster up? what fake expression of gratitude could i attempt to plaster on my face? "you have such a gift," they say. i struggle to make sense of such a... compliment? if only they knew this gift was a burden. i like to believe that i'm learning to smile and say "thank you." there are moments when i'm successful; but mostly, i shrug my shoulders in a way i've perfected. i tilt my weary-full head to the side, as to suggest deep gratitude for the acknowledgement-- for the affirmation-- for the chance to share these coveted gifts that are burdens. i often try my best to escape the room post service-- to hastily leave my gifts at the altar... or the pulpit. oh, how i wish to disappear into thin air after s

I learned a lot about ministry while I was bartending. People have NEEDS, okay! Ha! They NEED their cheeseburger medium-rare with no cheese, side Bleu cheese crumbles, no sauces, side mayo, extra pickles, okay! They NEED their martini filthy dirty, with extra olives on the side. Just drink the olive juice out the carton, why don't you?! They NEED their fries extra crispy or their salad finely chopped or their world will come tumbling down, shattering into a million pieces. Oh yes! I learned a lot about ministry while bartending. I learned how to plaster a smile on my weary face so that I'd get a good tip from Rick Ross (he left me $100 one time). I learned how to put up with vindictive managers who hated their jobs and, thus, took it out on us. I learned how to eat one meal a day in between a 14 hour shift. I learned how to carry 3 hot plates with 16oz bone-in prime ribs on them without dropping them, AND to dodge rowdy, undisciplined kids who were sprinting arou

A lot of people have read my earlier post ( For Colored Girls Who Aren't Afraid to Acknowledge Their Therapist, Pt. 1 ) about being a strong black woman who unashamedly has a therapist. I've gotten a few comments like: "Mia! You've always seemed like you had it all together! I'm surprised." "Mia, this is my life! I've had/I'm having trouble finding a therapist too!" "I had no idea therapy costs that much! Why won't insurance cover mental health care like they cover everything else?" 1. So, let me say this: I'm grateful to know that I am not alone in this process--that there are friends and colleagues who are doing or want to do work on themselves so that they, too, can be healthy. My generation might be deemed selfish or self-absorbed by older onlookers, but many of us are outchea tryna to cultivate the best version of ourselves--the version our families and communities expect from us. We ain't jus

I'm a strong, black woman. And I have a therapist. I don't just have a therapist. I need her these days. In the height of summer, I sought much needed help in the midst of a bout of depression. She was hard to find. Having been in therapy before and not being completely satisfied or comfortable, I decided to be intentional this time about who and what I was looking for. In 2015, I sought therapy and got a recommendation from a colleague. My only qualification at the time was that she be a woman of faith and preferably, a woman of color. I ended up with a middle aged Asian woman who lived in Westchester and loosely practice Christianity. It was cool at first. And expensive! My insurance wouldn't cover up front costs, so I paid out of pocket--$190 a session-- with the hopes that Blue Cross Blue Shield would reimburse ya girl 80%. They did...after a month of submitting paperwork. I was poor and unemployed but I needed help. The therapy didn't last. I