Kurre

        Sister Ann Kurre, 87, is officially retired yet busier than ever. She writes dozens of letters every year to friends or strangers in need of encouragement or just a kind word. Her brief but stunning speaking career lives on in memory only. “I'm a better letter writer,” she says.

By Sister Ann Kurre

        “You were great!” Those three little words were big to me. As a shy person, public speaking was never of much interest to me. Not in all my life. Not until someone asked me to speak at the groundbreaking ceremony for our new residence at Mount Notre Dame. I was 86 at the time.

        The Sisters of Notre Dame in Reading launched a $6 million capital campaign last year to fund educational programs, scholarships, and the construction of a new health center.

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        To this day, I don't know why I said yes to Sister Carol Diemunsch's invitation to speak. She knew I was inexperienced. Her advice was to “say it from the heart.”

        Easier said than done. Yet once I began writing, it flowed from me. I just told how I felt when I saw huge machines clawing down Marian and Pius halls, the homes I had known and loved for so many years. I told of the joy I knew in those places and of the community between its residents. I told how grief turned to joy when I saw our new building going up.

        As these feelings and reflections began taking shape, I knew the inevitable would soon be here. Practicing for the first time with Sister Carol, I held the speech tightly in my white-knuckled hands, thinking it would calm my fears.

        I never looked up during the whole delivery, and when done, I knew another practice session was in order. Sister Carol sat a few feet from me, not one speck of joy on her face.

        “You read that speech as though we weren't going to feed you for a week if you missed one word,” she told me. “Please try to look up, and show the donors you're happy that they are here.”

        After many more attempts, my nerves were still a wreck. The day came though, and on the morning of my speech, I prayed. I wanted the Lord to speak through me, and I think he did. I made my way to the podium, my arthritic knees shaking and the paper still clutched tightly in my hands. The crowd was large, 100 people or more.

        I managed to look up at our guests, all of whom were smiling at me, and I instantly smiled back. The ice was broken, so I began.

        I told them all about my former home at Mount Notre Dame, about how much I loved them, and about the excitement I felt looking at our new home. I even told them things that weren't on my sheet. My knees had stopped shaking, and before I knew it, the speech was coming to an end.

        In all my years, I have never received such applause. It was overwhelming. Many of the sisters came up to hug me. The architect of the new building congratulated me. One of the donors even told a sister he wished I would write his speeches.

        But of the praise I received, one piece was more meaningful than all the others. I I might have been a nervous wreck in the beginning, but Sister Carol did not give up on me. She knew I could do it, and it was her three whispered words that are so dear to me even now.

        “You were great!”

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