Why is it that so many of us have a tendency—or, rather, the desire—to state the obvious? And I don’t just mean declaring that the sky is blue on a cloudless day or that the stove is hot when we’re cooking. I mean in the more apologetic, self-deprecating-but-really-not way that some women will say to their girlfriends, “I’m having such a bad hair day,” or that men will pat their bellies and grunt, “I really need to get to the gym!”

A few weeks ago I met up with a young couple at Starbucks who wanted to ask me questions about my time in Prague. I don’t usually have such a captive audience on this side of the ocean when I describe my experiences overseas, but this couple is going to the Czech Republic for four months with their university.

So I told them a little about the city, what they should do, who they should meet, and a lot more. Sharing my experiences and connecting people with other people always gives me a lot of joy! I have no doubt that these two young married people will have the time of their lives in the city of a thousand spires.

But what really caught my attention, particularly because I do the exact same thing, was when the guy pointed out the crusty, healing cut on his upper lip. He looked so embarrassed and actually apologized for the wound. I couldn’t help but laugh, because there was no way that I could miss that painful detail. It also made not one bit of difference to the quality of our conversation or my desire to help them in their journey to another country.

So what made him point out a surface flaw that would heal in a matter of days? In a word: vanity. Okay, okay—humans can rarely be summed up in one word, so vanity is only the tip of very large, human-psyche-shaped iceberg. But it’s a word I know well, which is why I recognize it in others.

My own current pustulous cut is support-raising—not quite as visible, but much more sensitive to the touch. I’ve joined a ministry in Europe called the Art Factory and need to raise funds for both my ministry and salary, and to do that the first place I have to go is my friends. To my friends. And ask for money. Oooohhhh dear.

Most of the people I know are aware of what it takes to be a missionary. They know that support-raising is necessary and even a blessing to both the giver and the receiver. And yet I continually feel the need to apologize, to make sure they’re not offended. I want them to know that I’m a friend first and a slimy money-sucking leech second.

Okay, the last part is not true at all—even though I feel that way sometimes—and everyone I know is aware of it, too! So why do I still feel the need to point out that I don’t like raising support? Because I’m vain. And probably because I’m scared of what people I care about think of me.

Oh, how I do want people to love me!

I might be projecting when I theorize why some of us want to point out or apologize for a flaw. Perhaps we simply want to acknowledge our awareness, to turn the subject into a joke to relieve perceived tension. Or maybe we really do want someone to tell us, “It’s okay. I still accept you.”

It’s too bad we can’t say that to each other more often.