No More Tabs

Charlie owned and operated a small local grocery store during the sixties and seventies. I started working for Charlie when I was thirteen. I loved working at the store and I loved being around Charlie. Those really were “the good ole days” of small family owned businesses, corner markets and neighborhoods. Charlie knew most of his customers by first name and many of the “regulars” would stop just to say hi and to shoot the breeze. Charlie was always cutting up, always joking around. He was a strong man with a grip like a vice. Our daily ritual was Charlie stretching out his hand and saying, “Put her there.” My challenge was to shove my hand as far back into his as possible, before he got a death grip on my fingers. After clamping down on my hand he would stomp on my foot and push me backwards. It was all I could do not to fall like a tree. He wouldn’t let me go until I cried, “I give!” Charlie was no respecter of persons; he was more than willing to extend the same challenge to any kid who entered the store; many accepted and many fell.

My first job was carrying out the produce and displaying it at the front of the store. In the morning I’d carry it out, and in the evening I’d carry it back; fifty-cents each time. Charlie gradually added responsibilities and hours as I proved myself. I thought I’d arrived when he allowed me to check out customers. In retrospect, I think it was the first time I felt like an adult, like a man. I can visualize the old manual cash register with the keys and pop-out drawer. I remember the cardboard box filled with “tabs” that we kept on a shelf under the register. Many of our “regular customers” would place their items on the counter and say, “Put it on my tab”. I’d pull out their tab and enter, by hand, every item they purchased. There were no credit card applications to complete, just their word; their promise to pay. On pay days, they’d usually settle up or at least make a partial payment.

I moved on to college; Charlie was forced to sell his store for the construction of a high rise apartment building; and Charlie eventually died of cancer. Several years after Charlie’s death I saw his son, Tom, at a football game. We reminisced about the good times at the store. Tom told me that Charlie had several boxes of “tabs”, thousands of dollars of unpaid accounts, when the store closed. He had every legal right to demand payment in full, but do you know what Charlie did? Charlie threw them all away, “No more tabs!”

On a spiritual level, when I think about the mercy and grace that God extended to me, I think of Charlie. I was saddled with a debt of sin and shame that I could never repay. And God had every legal right to demand full payment. But, Jesus Christ, through His death on the cross, paid it for me. Jesus’ last words on the cross were, “It is finished”. Chuck Swindol, a highly respected pastor and teacher once explained that the phrase “It is finished” is an ancient accounting expression meaning, “Paid in full”. In other words, “no more tabs!” Are you saddled with a spiritual debt you can never repay? Well, I have some “good news” for you: “ If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:8-9).

Now, on a practical, relationship level, I challenge you to take inventory of your relationships. Are you keeping “tabs” on someone? Are you harboring resentment and bitterness? There is a time to confront and there is a time to forgive, but we need to do one or the other; either settle the account or throw away the tabs. Jesus said that when we refuse to extend mercy and forgiveness to others that we are “delivered to the tormentors” (Matthew 18:34). Resentment is such a waste of time, a waste of life, and can block the very flow of life itself. Is it really worth it? Decide today to throw away the tabs.