Her name was Myndi Clark. She was a loving wife, doting mother, skilled teacher, and good friend. I was one of her students at school when she received the horrible diagnosis that would soon forever change her life. It seemed that the cancer had already spread at the base of her spinal cord, and it was the reason why she was in such unbearable pain. For about 14 months, she battled it. But it soon spread to her lungs and shut down her kidneys. The school, church, and everyone who knew Myndi prayed for her. Unfortunately, God told us that He would not answer our prayers of curing her. Instead, He took her into His arms on September 15, 2006. We were all shocked and dismayed that our Heavenly Father had taken her away. But we were happy for her; no more pain, no more suffering will she endure.

We also discovered that during those last few months, Myndi witnessed to the whole oncology ward while staying in Northridge Hospital. We also found out that during that time, she never took her eyes off of the Lord. Crying out in pain, she would call upon Jesus to comfort her. But she never turned on God and asked, "Why?" Instead, she showed everyone around her, through her life, how much Jesus had meant to her. Even God decided to use Myndi to reach many of them. The doctors even commented that there was no way someone in her condition could survive this long; that there had to be a God who was watching over her.

Today, Myndi's family is facing another crisis. Not long after her death, Myndi's youngest daughter Cassidy (Savannah 7, McKenzie 6, Cassidy 3)was diagnosed with Leukemia. Please pray that the Lord will heal her. And also pray for Myndi's husband Chad, as this is difficult time for him.

I would like to finish this with a poem that I dedicate to Myndi Clark. I pray that people know that the REAL victory is in Jesus.

Go Down Death

(A Funeral Sermon)


Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more;
Grief-stricken son--weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;
She only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,
God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
Looking down on all his children,
And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,
Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity,
With the everlasting pity.

And God sat back on his throne,
And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
Call me Death!
And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call Death!--Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God's command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
Down in Yamacraw,
And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day,
She's labored long in my vineyard,
And she's tired--
She's weary--
Go down, Death, and bring her to me.

And Death didn't say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
And out and down he rode,
Through heaven's pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
on Death rode,
Leaving the lightning's flash behind;
Straight down he came.

While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn't see;
She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home,
And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again--
Up beyond the evening star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline
On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest.

Weep not--weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Sharai Bravo 

March 23, 2007