What is Your Purpose?
Atlanta, Georgia
One Week after Fight Night
D id I turn my cell phone off? Anatoly asked himself silently. The last thing he wanted was for work to interrupt. Renee didn’t ask much of him, but he knew that she wanted his full attention without pause today. He knew that without being asked.
In a black tailored suit, hair pulled into a neat ponytail, he stepped out of the hot summer sun into the coolness of the church foyer and pulled off his shades. He hadn’t put on anything but jeans and T-shirts for so long until the fine fabric felt odd against his skin. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he took a deep breath.
Renee looked up and noticed his discomfort. “You okay?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
He composed himself. “I’m fine, baby. You okay?”
She nodded. Okay was relative right now.
They walked into the main sanctuary where the other guests had already gathered, and instantly he felt the attention shift toward them.
Funerals were not Anatoly’s thing. They required too much emotion – something that was beyond him to give. The last time that he had set foot in a church was when he attended his own mother’s funeral seven years ago in in Moscow. Talk about a mind fuck. That experience had been a trauma from which he was still recovering, mostly because no one wanted him there, especially his siblings.
After that fiasco, he had sworn he’d never go to another funeral until the old man finally kicked the bucket. Yet, here he was again in a packed church of prying, judging eyes, preparing to bury another matriarch of a family and end another legacy. He didn’t like it. All of the rancid memories from his past rushed to the forefront of his mind along with unresolved issues that he had fought hard to entomb.
“Oh, Lord!” a woman cried to his right in a pew, not far from where he was standing. His head snapped toward the sobs and without intention made eye contact with an elderly black woman wearing a big black hat with a see-through veil over her face.
He raised a brow and took a deep breath. Might as well get used to that. It was after all a funeral.
And he had learned one thing for sure while being here about his wife’s culture. Black people truly mourned their dead. His mother had all of thirty people at her funeral, and she was as devout a Christian as Renee’s grandmother. Yet, this church was filled with hundreds of members, friends, family, community and even a couple of local cops. But they were probably not there for the funeral as much as they were there to keep an eye on him.
Word had gotten spread around town. The Russians were here. It might have been the entourage of luxury cars parked outside of Big Momma’s house or the bodyguards who stood around the property with earpieces and suits, but there was no one in Washington Park who didn’t know that Renee’s other family had arrived. The attention was enough to make him gag, even though he had become accustomed to it in other circles.
However, despite his predilection to shy away from the attention, over the last week, Anatoly had been there at his wife’s side, being attentive as possible while she took the calls, made the arrangements, picked out the last dress her grandmother would ever wear and finally prepared to receive guests coming to pay their respects.
Now, here they were – all of them – in this place together to say their final farewell. He couldn’t lie and say that he was not anxious to get it over with. Since he woke up this morning, at the crack of dawn, he had dreaded what promised to be a long day.
As Anatoly moved with the long family processional down the middle aisle of St. Peter Missionary Baptist Church, one arm holding his daughter, Alexandria, and the other arm locked around a weeping Renee, he tried to comfort both.
His baby girl was too young to truly comprehend what was going on, but from the moment she had set foot at Big Momma’s house, she could feel the tension and sorrow. As a result, she had clung to him like white on rice. Everywhere that he went, she followed, pulling a brown stuffed bear with her and begging to be picked up constantly. When he couldn’t hold her, Renee or Marat did. But most of the time, she just wanted to be with her Daddy.
The church organist played an old hymn setting the mood for what would surely be an hour of psychological torture while the pastor sat in his high back chair in the pulpit, eyes closed, meditating over the eulogy.
Anatoly was certain that the pastor had a special word in store. He had assured both he and Renee of it a few days ago when they met with him for coffee to go over her expectations for the program.
Renee had asked for something memorable and meaningful. She said that it was what her grandmother would have wanted.
In Anatoly’s novice experience, funerals and eulogies were never for the dead. They existed to warn the living. This will be you whether you like it or not one day. But as far as he was concerned, he wouldn’t go into the dirt until he had put all of his enemies there first.
Ah shit.
He glowered at the bronze coffin, propped up just below the pulpit, and felt his chest tighten. It was waiting on them as they slowly advanced forward at a snail’s pace while the elders in front of him viewed the body.
Flowers from family and friends filled the front of the church surrounded by wreaths and large potted plants. Renee had spared no expense for her grandmother’s homegoing, but the money wasn’t what stressed him out. It was viewing the body that was the kicker. For a guy who had killed more than his fair share over the years, seeing an innocent woman dead in a box unnerved him more than he cared to admit. Flashes of his own mother lying in her coffin flashed through his head and a small trail of sweat started to bead around his forehead.
He took another deep breath and gripped his wife tighter, hoping that his own anxiety wasn’t starting to show. After all, hang ups aside, this wasn’t about him. It was about Renee. She was quietly slipping out of his grasp, leaning farther into him as the grief overwhelmed her.
She had already told him, “I won’t cry.” And he could see her fighting to keep her word. Not that her crying bothered him. If anything, he wanted her to deal with her emotions. Keeping it pent up would only stress her out more and possibly affect the baby.
But evidently, somewhere between making the arrangements and dealing with overly dramatic family in a continual loop, Renee said that she had gotten closure and was ready to simply move on.
“Big Momma’s gone,” Renee lamented the night before while they were putting Alexandria to bed in her grandmother’s old bedroom. Her tired eyes were red from exhaustion, and it looked as though she had lost a few pounds from stress. She looked up at her husband lovingly and moved a strand of his golden hair from his face. “There is nothing left for me in this place now. I just want to move on and live my life the way that I know that I’m supposed to.” Maybe being pregnant helped her cope with the loss or maybe unlike him, she didn’t carry a mountain of guilt for not always being there for her grandmother, but she was being much stronger than he had anticipated.
“I can do this,” Renee said aloud to herself.
“You’re right, you can,” Anatoly assured, feeling Renee’s body trembling all over.
Anatoly stopped at the casket with his wife and watched her inspect her grandmother one last time. She had asked the slimy mortician to take extra care in making her grandmother beautiful for her last church service, throwing him a few extra dollars to ensure a job well done.
Surprisingly, the mortician had taken the money, even though it was supposed to be his job. That rubbed Anatoly the wrong way. There was no honor in the man. So, while Renee was with the mortician’s assistant picking out caskets in the other room, Anatoly had threatened the man with physical harm, if everything didn’t turn out absolutely perfect. “Make her happy or pick out your own coffin,” he had warned the son of a bitch.
In Anatoly’s mind, after purchasing the rip-off, over-priced, Stairway to Heaven package, the most expensive thing in the brochure, the least they could do was a stellar job.
Moving slightly to the left with Alexandria, he gave Renee space to bend over in the casket and kiss Big Momma’s carefully painted face. He could feel his daughter gripping him, afraid of the corpse that resembled the woman she had grown to love in her few short years.
Alexandria didn’t understand the concept of death, even though they tried to explain it to her. But he knew that after this, they would have to revisit the conversation. That’s just the way kids were.
“Daddy, is that Big Momma?” Alexandria whispered as she wrapped her small arms around her father and hid her face in his neck.
It was a reaction that he had already anticipated. Fear of the unknown. “You don’t have to look,” he told her, kissing Alexandria’s reddening cheek.
“I love you,” Renee whispered to her grandmother, one lonely tear dropping down into the white cushions of the coffin. What she wouldn’t give to hear her say it back. She rose from her crooked position, then nodded at Anatoly. She was ready to take her seat.
Alexandria could evidently feel her mother’s pain. Reaching out for her, she transferred from Anatoly’s arms to Renee’s.
Hugging her daughter tightly, Renee melted into the little girl, grateful to have her, and kissed her forehead. It was the first time that she thought about the fact that one day Alexandria would have to bury her.
“Mommy, I want to go home,” Alexandria whispered, looking out at the sea of faces in the church.
“Soon,” Renee promised. She wanted to go home too.
The elderly male usher standing at the end of the casket extended a white-gloved hand toward the front pew, motioning for them to take their assigned seat beside Big Momma’s five children and their spouses, a host of people had mourned the passing of their mother profusely, but didn’t exactly volunteer to foot the bill of her elaborate funeral. That responsibility was left to Anatoly, along with six-figure hospital bills, which he paid without uttering a word.
Before Renee got started making the final arrangements last week, Anatoly had Marat bring her a satchel jam packed with stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He wanted to ensure that while his wife was doing one of the hardest things in her life, she wasn’t troubled with expenses. He knew that she could afford it on her own, but it was important for her to know that he wanted to do it. It was the least he could do considering his family had not allowed him one courtesy when they buried his mother.
Shortly after they took their seats, his entire family came up to the casket to view the body. Dmitry and Royal stopped at the coffin first. His father didn’t bat an eye as usual, but Royal couldn’t control the gushing tears streaming down her face.
Having never had a grandmother herself, when Royal had visited through the years with Renee, Big Momma had become hers. She wiped her tears with a handkerchief and shook her head, mumbling something to Dmitry before he escorted Royal and his baby sister, Anya, down the aisle to pay their respects to the family.
Royal bent to Renee and hugged her tightly, then kissed Alexandria on the head. Dmitry simply nodded, knowing that his condolences had already been received by paying off Big Momma’s house and sending the deed to Renee’s father, Jesse, so that he’d have to place to stay when all of this blew over.
Anya was a lot less emotional than her mother. The young girl, tall and uncompromisingly beautiful with ice blue eyes, caramel skin and raven black hair, was very much a Medlov.
Groomed by her father since she was born, she had become a spitting image of his concrete resolve. She hugged Renee warmly, but no tears were shed. Anatoly knew it was because all of this reminded her of her dear belated bodyguard and Godfather Davyd, who only a few short years ago was murdered in front of her.
The rest of the family moved along in much of the same fashion, making sure to view the body and pay their respects. One at a time, they hugged Renee, letting her know she was not alone.
When everyone was finally seated, the service officially began, cued by the organ player who finally stopped with his previous tune.
Grateful, Anatoly picked up the glossy program with a picture of Big Momma in her youth and name embossed in gold at the bottom and flipped it open. He had seen the program a hundred times, helped Renee with the layout and wording, but he stared blankly at it now to occupy his time and his attention.
While he was looking down fiddling with the program, the large choir behind the preacher stood up. He could hear the shuffle of their robes as they moved into position. The piano and organist started a melody first. Then a heavy-set black woman with braids wearing a purple robe stepped up to the microphone. Picking it up in her right hand, she smiled and looked around the church, like she was about to share a very big secret.
“How many of you are grateful to be in God’s presences today?” she asked, voice as clear a bell. “This is truly a day that God has made. And we are here to celebrate the life of Mrs. Bernice Hattie Mae Cooper or as I loved to call her, Big Momma.”
The large congregation clapped in unison, cheering up instantly. A loud, joyful Amen erupted in the back of the room. Then suddenly, the music stopped.
The woman holding the mic took a deep breath, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. A voice so angelic, so powerful and so beautiful began to sing.
“Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost. But now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see.”
The choir joined in and began to sing. Their collective voice washed over the room like a cool breeze.
Anatoly’s head popped up, feeling what seemed to be electricity over his skin as the goosebumps formed. The sound was so beautiful until he couldn’t help but close his eyes and listen. It was captivating, sucking all the tension out of the room and filling it with something unexplainable.
He could feel his wife rocking beside him while she held Alexandria. Opening his eyes, he caught himself before he began to rock as well. When the song ended, he sat up straight and pulled at his tie. It was getting hot in the room from all the bodies. Maybe they needed to crank up the air.
Renee’s aunt, Whitney, was sitting to his immediate left. She leaned into him and winked. “That’s the Holy Spirit,” she said, fanning her face. It was the first time since arriving in Atlanta three days ago that she had said a word to him. Most of the time, she looked at him like he had a horn growing out of his forehead.
Anatoly smiled sarcastically. “I’ve heard of it,” he said, rolling his eyes. What did she think that he was a heathen? Evidently, even though she didn’t think much of him, she didn’t mind his money, but she didn’t offer a dollar towards the funeral.
Renee rubbed over his hand and shook her head. “Don’t pay any attention to her.”
Anatoly leaned toward his wife. “Want to switch seats?”
Renee laughed.
Thirty minutes later, the pastor of the church finally got up and made his way to the microphone. As he did, the choir and all the congregants stood up to receive him. Respectfully, Anatoly did the same.
“You may have a seat,” the pastor said, giving a big insinuating smile. After acknowledging a long list of people, thanking the choir and offering a few words to the bereaved, he flipped open his Bible and took a sip of water from the glass beside him on the acrylic podium. The crowd seated themselves and waited.
Anatoly wiped a hand over his mouth and beard, eyeing the pastor cynically. He had never been one for organized religion, but the man of God better bring it with his sermon after Renee’s very gracious gift to the church in her grandmother’s name to complete the renovation fund.
“Touch someone beside you and tell them, GOD AIN’T DONE WITH YOU YET,” the pastor said loudly into the microphone, straightening his purple tie.
Anatoly immediately gave Aunt Whitney a cautionary scowl that caused her to turn from him and reach over to Renee’s father, Jesse, who sitting on her opposite side. He’d had enough of her shit for one day. One more condescending statement and he’d shove her right into the coffin with her sister.
At the same moment of giving Aunt Whitney a little of her own medicine, he felt the chilled little fingers of his wife on his hand. He turned to look at her, relaxing the tension in his face.
“God ain’t done with you yet,” Renee said with a smile.
Anatoly smiled back, but didn’t repeat the words.
“That’s right,” the pastor continued, pleased with the crowd’s participation. “God is not done…with you yet.” He looked down at his sermon. “In this house of worship, we are not mourning the loss of Mrs. Cooper. She had been in this place long enough. Her body was tired. Her work was done, and the Lord was ready to call her home. I truly believe that she will hear the words we all long for. Job well done, good and faithful servant. But for you, all of you, who sit in this church right now, you must know that if you woke up this morning, there is something that He wants you to do. You. Have. A. Purpose.”
“Amen,” Renee said, nodding her head.
“Amen,” Alexandria mimicked her mother.
Anatoly grinned at their daughter. She was cute, always trying to be like Mommy.
“Death comes for us all, ladies and gentlemen. We are born into the world, and so we must all leave this world to move on to the next part of our journey, that everlasting eternal place where we will either be rewarded or damned. The choice is yours.” The pastor gazed out at the crowd and all the faces staring back at him. “What we can rejoice in is the fact that the sting of death, Hallelujah, was removed by the blood of Jesus and by His stripes we are healed, delivered and set free.”
Amidst the affirmations, Anatoly pushed back in the pew, unbuttoned his black suit jacket and crossed his legs. He might as well get comfortable. From what Renee had warned, black church services could take a while, even though Renee had asked to keep it short and sweet. He glanced over his shoulder out of habit and noticed that a few eyes were trained on him instead of the good reverend. Looking forward, he rolled his eyes and huffed.
“My sermon, and I’m not going to make this long,” the pastor glanced over at Renee and Anatoly with a smirk, “is about purpose. The Hebrew root word means to give counsel, to deliberate or determine. God has a purpose for all of us, deliberate in its design and only when we walk in that purpose are we truly free.” His voice elevated as he pointed out at the congregation. “Someone in this room is going to lead a soul to Jesus. Someone in this room is going to give birth to a leader. Someone in this very room is going to save a life. Why? Because it is their purpose.”
So far, Anatoly wasn’t impressed. The look of utter aggravation that he tried hard to repress emphasized it. He didn’t want to offend Renee, so he pretended to be absorbing all of this, but not one sermon he had ever heard in all his years of going to mass with his mother as a child had ever changed his life or his circumstance. It was all a bunch of ultimatums and scripture that felt like verbal pile drivers designed to keep him scared and compliant. There was never once that he felt like the message was meant for him.
Today, however, he might be surprised.
The pastor’s powerful voice echoed through the sanctuary. “No man is an island. No matter how tough you think you are, no matter how much power you think you have, you can’t exist in this world by yourself. Every once in a while, you are going to have to ask someone for help.” The pastor chuckled. “And you never know who that person is going to be, which is why, saints, we have to be mindful of how we treat people. Love thy neighbor. You never know when their purpose and yours might intersect. Life has a strange way of getting our attention. God has a way of reminding us that He is in charge.”
People clapped at the man’s words.
“Say it,” a woman behind Anatoly shouted out.
“We are set upon this world to do His will, to serve His will, to teach His will. God doesn’t make mistakes. You are where you are in your life at this very moment for a purpose. He brought someone in here out sickness. He brought someone in here out of danger. Amen. He delivered someone here from a destitute situation. But He did all for a purpose. He is the creator of heaven and earth, the universe and everything beyond it. He places you in circumstances not only so that you’ll rise above them, but so that you will do His work. Amen. There are no coincidences. How you got here is no coincidence. The person you are today is by design. He will put you on a path, Amen, because on that road there is someone He wants you to meet, a life He wants you to change and job that is specifically for you and no one else. The question is when He calls on you to serve your purpose, will you answer?”
He looked over at Anatoly, who was looking at him now, not with the skepticism he had before but with curiosity.
Anatoly had to admit. The man had his attention. He pushed up in his seat, ears perked up, eyes planted on him, taking in every word.
“It doesn’t matter who you were yesterday or what you did yesterday. No man is without sin. If he only used those who were sinless, the streets of heaven would be empty. The pages of the Bible would be empty. If you have a heartbeat, He can use you.”
The crowd clapped.
“It doesn’t matter what your name is or who your parents are or are not. It doesn’t matter if you talk to your family every day or you haven’t spoken to them in years. It doesn’t matter if you have a million dollars in the bank or if you are in the red. God doesn’t discriminate. If you let Him, He will use you, no matter your sins, no matter your transgressions. But you must understand your purpose. You are not a mistake, saints. You didn’t arrive here by mistake, saints. Stop letting something that happened to you ten years ago hold you down, hurt you, bind you. Remember that the devil is a lie. But Jesus came so that we may have life and have it more abundantly. What you need to ask yourself is what is my purpose today? Because today is all that matters, saints. Today is going to be key to the rest of your life.”
Anatoly adjusted in his seat, uncomfortable by the man’s message. It felt personal, like it was meant for him and him only. His eyes darted around the front of the church, feeling profoundly exposed. Realizing that his body language was giving him away, he relaxed his shoulders and exhaled the trapped breath caught in his chest.
Scratching his brow, he felt his wife’s eyes burning through him. She had stopped looking at the preacher and was watching him.
“What?” Anatoly shrugged as the preacher continued with his sermon.
Renee shook her head. “Nothing,” she said with a grin, turning her attention back to the pastor.