Nevaida Harper passed away this week. There is a memorial service for her today at the Bow Valley Chapel at 2:30 pm. She was a member of our ward and a long time resident of Alberta.
I have two enduring memories of Nevaida.
The first once occurred when she had remarried. Blaine and Nevaida lived just one avenue over from us.
On Sunday, I usually asked someone from the ward over for Sunday dinner. That is just what my parents had done. It was as much a part of the Sunday ritual as going to Sunday School was. I didn’t know you could have Sunday any other way.
So I asked that newly married mature couple to come over to our house, thinking they might like a break from the quiet of just being together. I had eight children all starving after church and a noise level that they might have remembered from their first marriages, but a noise level that had gone from their lives for a while.
Usually I wouldn’t be able to tell you what the menu was, but that Sunday I must have made fresh buns for when the meal was over, I tried to press Nevaida into taking some home.
“Oh, no I couldn’t.”
“Please take them. There are lots and I make bread about three times a week. My children won’t miss them.”
“Oh no, this is so much work, I couldn’t take one.”
“I think you might enjoy them later in the week, please do. And I have plenty as you can see.”
Back and forth we went.
Then Nevaida melted from her position. She said, “Yes, we would love them. Just love them. Whatever you wrap up we will enjoy through the week. I know how much work this is. Thank you.”
She was eloquent with her thanks.
Why this memory is so vivid to me was Nevaida’s acknowledgement of other women’s work, the total breadth of it. And her not wanting to seem to take advantage of it.
My second enduring memory takes a little longer to tell.
I have a university background in music, but in those days, I didn’t have much time to pursue that passion. I was, however, the Primary chorister, and Nevaida was in the Primary presidency. She and I must have had a similar music ethic – ie, never miss a moment to make music. So when the children would start filing in from their classes, I would begin singing, teaching a new song until all the classes had finally congregated. Then I would begin singing time (proper) and teach another song. The expectation from the Stake was that the Primary would learn one new song a month. My expectation for the Bow Valley Ward was that they would learn 8 new songs a month and get some practise singing the old ones.
Nevaida didn’t ever say anything. She just watched. I hadn’t really thought about the disconnect until now. She, with the musical degrees, should have been the one singing with the children and I could have been the one making the announcements.
However, there we were. Nevaida just watching and me wanting to make singing the best time kids had at church. I pulled all of the tricks out of my musical knapsack and laid them there for the children to enjoy.
I was relentless.
Then one day Primary was over. I was exhausted from the split shift – first 20 minutes with the younger children and then 20 minutes with the older ones, coaxing those into singing who didn’t want to sing, trying to help those who needed to move find all the movement they needed in music. Sometimes with a pianist who couldn’t keep up with the music. Going off to the nursery to sing with those children in between the two other shifts. The list of what might go wrong could go on forever.
Nevaida came to me at this day I am remembering and said, “Arta, I wish I could bring my music students over to watch how you do this.”
Being the Primary chorister is a pretty low profile job in the church.
But I knew that I got to touch the life of every child in the ward for 20 minutes each week, though I haven’t ever heard anyone say, “Gee, there is a job I would like.”
Still, it was so respectful for Nevaida to say that to me.
I think more people might like the job of being Primary chorister if there were more people like Nevaida giving praise that nourishes the soul.
Arta
I have two enduring memories of Nevaida.
The first once occurred when she had remarried. Blaine and Nevaida lived just one avenue over from us.
On Sunday, I usually asked someone from the ward over for Sunday dinner. That is just what my parents had done. It was as much a part of the Sunday ritual as going to Sunday School was. I didn’t know you could have Sunday any other way.
So I asked that newly married mature couple to come over to our house, thinking they might like a break from the quiet of just being together. I had eight children all starving after church and a noise level that they might have remembered from their first marriages, but a noise level that had gone from their lives for a while.
Usually I wouldn’t be able to tell you what the menu was, but that Sunday I must have made fresh buns for when the meal was over, I tried to press Nevaida into taking some home.
“Oh, no I couldn’t.”
“Please take them. There are lots and I make bread about three times a week. My children won’t miss them.”
“Oh no, this is so much work, I couldn’t take one.”
“I think you might enjoy them later in the week, please do. And I have plenty as you can see.”
Back and forth we went.
Then Nevaida melted from her position. She said, “Yes, we would love them. Just love them. Whatever you wrap up we will enjoy through the week. I know how much work this is. Thank you.”
She was eloquent with her thanks.
Why this memory is so vivid to me was Nevaida’s acknowledgement of other women’s work, the total breadth of it. And her not wanting to seem to take advantage of it.
My second enduring memory takes a little longer to tell.
I have a university background in music, but in those days, I didn’t have much time to pursue that passion. I was, however, the Primary chorister, and Nevaida was in the Primary presidency. She and I must have had a similar music ethic – ie, never miss a moment to make music. So when the children would start filing in from their classes, I would begin singing, teaching a new song until all the classes had finally congregated. Then I would begin singing time (proper) and teach another song. The expectation from the Stake was that the Primary would learn one new song a month. My expectation for the Bow Valley Ward was that they would learn 8 new songs a month and get some practise singing the old ones.
Nevaida didn’t ever say anything. She just watched. I hadn’t really thought about the disconnect until now. She, with the musical degrees, should have been the one singing with the children and I could have been the one making the announcements.
However, there we were. Nevaida just watching and me wanting to make singing the best time kids had at church. I pulled all of the tricks out of my musical knapsack and laid them there for the children to enjoy.
I was relentless.
Then one day Primary was over. I was exhausted from the split shift – first 20 minutes with the younger children and then 20 minutes with the older ones, coaxing those into singing who didn’t want to sing, trying to help those who needed to move find all the movement they needed in music. Sometimes with a pianist who couldn’t keep up with the music. Going off to the nursery to sing with those children in between the two other shifts. The list of what might go wrong could go on forever.
Nevaida came to me at this day I am remembering and said, “Arta, I wish I could bring my music students over to watch how you do this.”
Being the Primary chorister is a pretty low profile job in the church.
But I knew that I got to touch the life of every child in the ward for 20 minutes each week, though I haven’t ever heard anyone say, “Gee, there is a job I would like.”
Still, it was so respectful for Nevaida to say that to me.
I think more people might like the job of being Primary chorister if there were more people like Nevaida giving praise that nourishes the soul.
Arta
Did children sing along with you as they filed in and found their seats?
ReplyDeleteI can remember sitting in one of those seats. To me you were the bishop of primary, up at the front, with the whole congregation (of children and teachers) listening to your words, following your instructions, and learning from you.
A lucky child, I was.
You reminded me of what was happening as the children filed in. Usually adults were trying to separate kids who might fight, and simultaneously put kids close to them who were exhausted and just wanted to lean on their teacher or put their heads in his/her laps. I have to give a hats off to all of the teachers. They sang along as though they were loving it, when in reality, they were probably tired from teaching.
ReplyDeleteThat world of transferring information in a group, whether through speech or song? Still going on, isn't it. Teachers can't be paid enough, though in the case of church work, everything is voluntary.
It was a great time when you brought all the dolls, and taught the children how to wrap them in a swaddling cloth. Does anyone else remember when a 3 or 4 year old richard took the lesson home, and was wrapping up various dolls, and carrying them around as "the baby jesus"? And one time when we unwapped the bundle, we found inside the devil handpuppet"? I am still in a belly laugh thinking about that one! priceless.
ReplyDeleteI think the teen-agers in the family loved this the best. This is something they might have wanted to do, which pleased them so much that a 4 year old had the same idea. Oh, Kelvin and I may have liked it as well, since there was something wonderful about his innocence and the laughter of the rest of you.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the great post Arta. But Rebecca totally sabotaged it with devil/baby jesus story. I am laughing so hard. One of the things that brings me the most joy in my life is laughing with my siblings. I really hope my kids will have so much fun with each other as adults too. I don't even mind if most of their laughs come at my expense.
ReplyDeleteSo many fond memories... and so much Joy! Jane
DeleteYes, finding the JOY. My daughter, Catherine, can find WORK and JOY in the same sentence often during the day. Like you, Jane Milner, I love the fond memories of the past.
Delete