God and Wine

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 ...