Wherever I am, I'll Serve the Lord
Wherever I am, I'll Serve the Lord
Ron Humphrey
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Editor's Note: In the August 1983 issue of Prison Fellowship’s Jubilee newsletter, we told you the story of Zeb Osborne. Zeb, who had spent more than half his life behind bars, was then the only certified PF instructor who was also a prisoner. And—facing a 20-year federal sentence when his South Carolina sentence ended—it did not appear that was going to change soon.
We caught up with Zeb by phone at his Columbia, South Carolina, home and found that God is still serving up surprises. Be sure to read our update when you're done with the original 1983 story.
August 1983—As inmates gathered for a Prison Fellowship seminar at Cross Anchor South Carolina State Prison in late June, instructor Zeb Osborne greeted them with a bear hug and a grin. “Bless you, brother,” he said in his soft-spoken southern drawl to one, and “praise the Lord, good to see you!” to another. Taller ones he hugged on tip-toe. He’s barely more than five-and-a-half feet tall; it’s obvious Zeb’s powerful presence comes not from his stature, but from within.
As the room filled, Zeb stood at the front, removing glasses perched on his squat nose. “Let’s get right down to where you’re at,” he said. “No matter what your crime or length of sentence, you can be free tonight in Jesus Christ.”
Zeb knows. He’s already spent more than half of his 49 years in prison. And, though Prison Fellowship’s staff includes a number of ex-offenders, Zeb has the distinction of being the only member of PF’s crack team of seminar instructors who’s still in prison. For Zeb, like the men he teaches, is a state inmate. And with a 20-year federal sentence yet to serve, he may still be in prison when he’s 80. But prison bars mean nothing to Zeb. “God has given me freedom,” he says. He seldom speaks of his pre-Christian days, not wanting to “glorify the devil.” But when he does, one wonders how this could be the same man.
The “old” Zeb was a scrapper, a life-long rebel who thrived on intimidating others. “I grew up tough, trying to make up for my short stature,” he said. He joined the Marines at 17, but was expelled for “misconduct”—an understatement. In a drunken rage sparked by an officer’s wisecrack, he had done $150,000 worth of damage to a military hospital.
He pulled his first armed robbery in a supermarket while AWOL from the Marines. After his discharge, he started robbing banks. His crime spree was cut short in 1957 when he was caught and imprisoned.
His third day in prison, an aggressive inmate accosted him. Zeb tore into him like a madman; minutes later, the inmate lay dead on the ground.
