My brother-in-law, Jeff Miller, passed away recently. During Jeff's eulogy, the minister talked about "Finding Home" in a way that really struck me. I don't remember the specifics of what Pastor Dan said, but I took away a new way to think about "Home". Maybe it's different from the geographical location I always thought it was. Perhaps it is a place, described by what it does for you rather than where it is.
Jeff was a musician, a very talented musician. He was also a natural teacher and loved to share his knowledge of music and rhythm. He would lead drum circles where a large group of people would literally sit in a circle and play African-style drums of all sorts. I have never participated in one but as the minister described them, Jeff would start by teaching a simple rhythm, a rhythm that one could always come back to, I might call it a touchstone. I guess the drummers in the circle would move on from this home rhythm and explore more complex variations, but not always successfully. Jeff, the minister said, would remind everyone when things turned into a cacophony that they can always return to the home rhythm; to something simple, something familiar, something comfortable, the foundation.
That is such a wonderful thought for me. I often come back to it in times of great strife and stress. When I feel overwhelmed by the noise and activity around me, I try to remind myself to return home. This doesn't mean to hide or run away. I don't need to physically move at all. I have come to understand it as re-engaging with the familiar tools that have worked for me in the past. To me, now "going home" means to simplify, to return to the natural rhythm that is comfortable, that is foundational, that is trustworthy... that is home.
This was reinforced for me shortly after I returned home from the funeral. I was doing a common running workout in the early morning. I was working on my tempo, a combination of pace, stride length, and cadence. It is a high-intensity workout. In the early stages, my pace was a little all over the map and I was getting frustrated. I could not seem to dial it into something consistent. I was starting to struggle a little at this higher level of effort and my breathing was becoming labored. A familiar panic began to set in that often results in aborting the effort entirely. As I was reaching my crescendo of frustration and anxiety, this thought of a home rhythm came to my conscious mind. I decided to try something. I began to listen to my breathing and the sound of my feet striking the ground. I began to hear a natural rhythm, maybe the home rhythm for this run. My breathing and my stride settled. I was still working hard, but I was calm. It allowed me to get into a flow where I could lose myself and become aware only of the pleasure of running. The rhythm was comfortable. It was foundational. It was trustworthy. In the end, I had run faster and further than I had expected. This experiment with a "returning home" will stay with me for a long time.
Jeff left this world in November of 2022. He left his wife, his boys, and many people who loved him dearly, but he returned home. He has left this noisy world, that is full of anxiety, and strife. His soul went to a place of comfort, relief, and wholeness. A place where the natural rhythm of all living things has its source. Maybe that is where true peace is, being part of the home rhythm that is foundational to all things.
Jeffrey Evans Miller, 72, of Missoula MT and Las Vegas NV, passed away in Sierra Leone, West Africa on November 13, 2022 after a short, sudden illness.
Jeff, born in Texas and raised in Missoula, enlisted in the US Army at the age of 17 and served tours of duty in Vietnam as well as state-side. Jeff also served as a volunteer for the National Disaster Medical Service as a Logistics Officer from 2011 to 2019. At 50 years of age he earned a pilot license and began a more than 20 year love of airplanes, flying, and sharing that love with many people.
Jeff was an extraordinary musician, sharing his knowledge and love of many music genres and encouraging many beginners. He was a humble master of the guitar, African drums and Native American-style flute. He was affectionately known as Uncle Boom to more than 100 children at The Raining Season orphanage in West Africa where he led drumming.
Jeff was preceded in death by his parents Gardner and Mary Miller, his sister Harriet, and brothers Brock and Roger. Jeff is survived by his wife Cheryl Miller (Limer), his 2 sons in Sierra Leone, Sheku and Sulaiman (Will), and by many beloved nephews and nieces.
