My grandmother had breast cancer. Her daughter, my mom, had breast cancer – twice. Let’s face it, my chances of getting cancer are pretty high. I’ve known that for years and do what I can to mitigate that risk.

Recently, I went to the doctor for a check-up. My doctor is associated with the famed Mayo Clinic. We feel blessed to have doctors who are a part of a medical community that is so prestigious and on the cutting edge of medical treatment. As a result of their expertise, they analyze and check family history more than any doctor I’ve ever had. I was a bit disconcerted when, at the conclusion of my physical, due to my family history, I learned my probability of having a heart attack and of having breast cancer in cold, hard, percentages. One is pretty low – the other, not so much. But then I knew that already.

That’s the world we live in, isn’t it?

Everything, it seems, comes down to the numbers. In fact, we measure almost everything. We know the percentage of bran in our cereal, the calories in each bite of food, the amount of octane in our gasoline, our intelligence quotient, our body mass index and weight, how “successful” a teacher is, and who doesn’t know their credit score? Even children have not escaped our apparent need to quantify things. We check their weight and height and place them on a growth curve, we conduct cognitive ability tests, and as they grow, we assign them grades and measure their growth academically.

We measure other things too. How many people attended a concert, a class, a sporting event, or a church service.

When used as a diagnostic tool, as a means of identifying a problem, I think numbers can be good – much of the time. Unfortunately, we now live in a world where metrics are the order of the day.

DISH TV sent out a representative to set up our service. At the end of the service call, the technician told us that he hoped we were satisfied with his service. We said we were. He continued by telling us that we would receive a call to conduct satisfaction survey and that anything less than a 10 would be considered a failing grade by his supervisor. As a result, he hoped that we would be able to give him a “10” rating on a scale of 1 to 10.

Our Ford garage has a similar system. When they call, if we give the service department less than a 4 on a four-point scale, they are reprimanded by their employer. To combat that, they tell customers so that they will be on the service crew’s side and give them the score they require to be considered successful.

What does that say about quantifying satisfaction?

Some numbers cannot be manipulated – but they can be interpreted. There is some truth in the adage that says you can force statistics to support whatever you want them to say simply by the way you explain them. By changing the question asked, we get a totally different perspective. What does that tell us about the information that we acquire from our need to use numbers to analyze and assign value to products and even people? If we can force the data to say what we want it to, what good is the data?

So should we stop collecting data, stop relying on matrices that tell us what and how and sometimes, why?

As much as I might like to say yes, I cannot. And really, the world is never going to stop collecting “data,” is it? No, we need these kinds of numbers – within reason.

There are times when I will write a list of things to accomplish. I measure the success of my day – or the failure – by the number of things that remain to be finished at the end of the day. That really is a form of data isn’t? Oh no! I’ve been assimilated!

The thing that I keep coming back to is the truth that behind most every number is a person, a situation.

If that is true, some questions must be asked.

How can we assume that numbers tell the whole story? What makes us believe that EVERYTHING in life can be quantified? Why do we believe that a lack of numerical growth is synonymous with NO growth – even personal, relational, or spiritual? What can we do when numbers cause us to believe that we are less than God made us to be? How can we help people who have determined their worth – or lack thereof – by the numbers?

You may have noticed that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.

It all started when I worked at an insurance company and I struggled to meet the metrics required to get my quarterly bonus. Actually, no. It really started when I found out that professional teachers were going to be graded based on theories advanced by non-educators. I’ve continued to think about this when my students have come to me after a test feeling totally defeated because they couldn’t pass the test, or when they got their report card and they got a 2 instead of a 3 or a 4. (For you old school folks, think D rather than a B or A.) It began to come to head in my heart and my mind when I found out I had a 17% chance of having a heart attack and an 83% chance of getting cancer. And honestly, it solidified in my mind at district assembly for our church when a speaker talked about the things that we track and how it may be time for us to look at things differently. (By the way, I agree with what he had to say – sometimes we track the wrong things.)

Why does success have to be quantified?

Why must growth be measured numerically?

Why can we not see that every number represents a PERSON?

It is imperative that we remember that life doesn’t always go as planned. Illnesses happen. We lose people we love. We hear people we care about fighting. Our night is interrupted – and so is our sleep. Emotions are impacted by circumstances beyond our control. All of these things impact performance. This is part of the danger of trying to quantify success or growth.

Stories of success abound. They surround us every day. Instead of looking at the numbers, it’s time to start seeing the people again. It’s time to see the creation of God – the broken, the hurting, the lost. Time to see those who are serving, loving, caring, and healing. It’s not all about the numbers. We can start making it about the stories, about the people again.

It’s time.