The Washing
Preface / Context
In my 40s, I enrolled in a nursing assistant training program at Baltimore City Community College. Six months of rigorous training, fully sponsored—tuition, textbooks, and supplies were all covered—through the Mayor’s Office of Employment Development (MOED) and supported by the Maryland Department of Labor using federal WIOA funds.
It was more than just a program; it was a doorway into understanding care, service, and the human condition in a very tangible way.
The instructors were exceptional. Dr. Adey Ikemola, Ph.D., a Nigerian, Oxford-trained educator, guided the textbook and theory portions with precision and insight. C.C. Jackson, a clinical instructor and Johns Hopkins veteran nurse—Caring and Compassionate—led the hands-on clinical experience.
Their mentorship was a blend of rigor and heart, setting the stage for everything I witnessed in the nursing home.
Nursing Home Clinical Experience
During my one-week clinical rotation at a nursing home, I encountered residents whose needs spanned the spectrum of human frailty and resilience: some stiff as boards, some on machines, some with open wounds. The sights were humbling, sometimes unsettling, and deeply transformative.
One resident, paralyzed from the neck down, could not wash himself, feed himself—nothing. And yet, with my eagle laser eyes, I noticed something particular: his feet were extraordinarily dirty. Years of haphazard cleansing—plenty of soap but little proper rinsing—had left the skin irritated.
In that moment, something shifted. I felt a quiet, profound spiritual nudge. Jesus, it seemed, was telling me that He had washed my feet. That in His eyes, I was no better than anyone else. So, gloved in surgical protection, I washed his feet. A simple act, yet layered with humility, reflection, and grace.
Another resident, a fully alert 98-year-old woman, locked eyes with me. She smiled, steady and warm, and said: “Keep doing what you’re doing. There’s something special about you.” Her words lingered—proof that presence, empathy, and sincere care can ripple far beyond the surface of daily tasks.
Spiritual Reflection
In those halls, amid machines, linens, and the scent of antiseptic, I witnessed the Spirit of the Lord. It was tangible—not in grand gestures, but in quiet moments of service and attention. The washing of feet, literal and metaphorical, became a symbol: humility, devotion, and the acknowledgment of shared human dignity. I have never washed another person’s feet since, yet that moment remains vivid in my heart—a reminder that acts of care, no matter how small, carry weight.
Epilogue / Coda
The nursing assistant training program I completed was made accessible through MOED and the Maryland Department of Labor. These agencies are not just brick-and-mortar or online institutions; they are staffed by people who have faced similar challenges, each demonstrating a positive attitude and a deep level of care that leaves you in awe and motivated.
The first step is often simply to review the information online, explore the options, and consider what’s available. If you feel you have the will, the desire, and the heart, then that’s the right time to make a few phone calls.
For example:
Baltimore City residents can explore the MOED Job Training Resources.
For statewide programs, the Maryland Department of Labor offers information on training programs.
The Maryland Workforce Exchange is another valuable tool for job seekers and skill-building initiatives.
These resources make it easier than ever to find programs, apply, and take your first step into a healthcare career—or any field that calls to your heart.
Instructors:
Dr. Adey Ikemola, Ph.D. – Nigerian, Oxford-trained textbook and theory instructor.
C.C. Jackson – Clinical instructor, Johns Hopkins veteran nurse (Caring and Compassionate).
Their guidance ensured that the training was not only professional and rigorous, but also deeply human—a foundation that shaped every observation, every action, and every reflection I carried into the nursing home.
