What you see is the travel. The jet setting. The beautiful places and new faces. Stories that will stay with you for a lifetime. You see the souvenirs, the excitement, the homecoming reunion, the social media post.

What I failed to post was this.

The life size roach I was having a full on conversation with in my "room" in the Philippines trying to convince him to stay away or I would have to attempt to kill him. The 2am dancing in the middle of the room because I was too scared to go back to sleep, afraid Mr. Roach's family would come at me from behind. The line of tiny, almost invisible bugs running across the counter where my toiletry bag sat. The cold, uncomfortable wash down I did standing on a towel, hitting only the armpits and the necessary places, because the shower looked worse than the counter, all while watching for Mr. Roach and his family of vigilante friends.

The not so hilarious text thread happening back home, my friend messaging my husband, how did you let Noelle go to the Philippines without you. Great question, asking myself that while I sprinted back and forth to grab my belongings so Mr. Roach didn't decide to go on a free trip with me around the world and begging him not to come out from under the bed and attack me.

The 12, 13, sometimes 20 hour days. Awake on the other side of the world, staying up to catch my husband or my kids before school, before work, then waiting again to hear how the day went. Did they win the game. How was church. All while managing a participant group of 100, simultaneously communicating with the other 300 parents whose racers are on the field. All while remembering their names. Their children's names. What they messaged me about before the trip. The important things, because this is a relationship I am building and it matters. Remembering their racer's concerns. The parent's concerns. Making sure this is a safe place for them to reunite and serve well.

What I didn't post were the missed games. The time my daughter got her driver's license and I was in a jungle somewhere. Or the end of the shift where I missed the much needed hug my other daughter needed because she lost her first patient.

I forgot to post the fear. The sadness. The anxiety I carry before I leave, and the kind that finds me alone in the airport, missing my family so much I can't breathe right. The tears I shed when one of my children sends a simple I miss you momma, and I know full well they need me. The times I pause because Joe sends me a picture of him taking all the kids out to eat and I am so, so, happy he is so great and I am completely full of FOMO.

I didn't post the week of cold showers, if I got one. Or the one week I went with only half a shower. Letting the parents and racers go before me. Waking an hour earlier than everyone else to get presentable, which meant around 3am, because parents started waking at 4 to leave and serve at 5, and I wanted to be there to greet every one of them. Running on pure adrenaline and a face I had to put on for everyone out there.

You didn't get to see the craziness of a third world country airport. Or the time I had to arrive 8 hours early and sit outside until an hour before my flight. The many times I brushed my teeth in the terminal waiting area before reapplying my deodorant and washing my face, all while facetiming my mother. I forgot to tell you about the new skill I have of being able to change clothes in a bathroom stall, while not letting anything touch the ground and challenging baby wipes to their job. The day I lived off M&Ms and Diet Coke. Another trip where everything in the country made me sick so I just stopped eating, until my husband refused to have a conversation with me until I sent him a picture of my food. I definitely do not post my feet, those poor things, haven taken me around the world, mostly in sandals because I hate closed toe shoes, other times, spending 8 plus hours in rain boots, half wet, absolutely wrinkled and toe nails caked with mud.

I also forgot to post the 18 mile hike. The terrain I still cannot find words to describe. The trek from my "bed" to my "toilet." How I figured out a way to not go in the middle of the night for that bathroom break, and trust me, you don't want to know what I had to do. The life size spiders. The bugs with no names, the size of my palms. The endless rice and beans- breakfast, lunch and dinner. The magnificent PBJ on saltines I can make and prepare them like they are a 5 star meal. The 32 hour travel days. The best one, over 60 hours from the Philippines. Never first class. Cramped in a coach seat, a week and a half of clothes in a carry on, rewearing the same things over and over. You would be surprised how much you can live without. Even better...the times when I forget my razor.

The bug bites I have refrained from showing you. The rash of hives I got on one trip, saved just for my memories. The scatter of "red bumps" that always come from the jungle and itch terribly. The massive bruises from ridiculous falls. The gushing blood from my knee meeting a root with the full force of my body weight... That one I actually think I shared.

45 days home last year. 15 days home in two and a half months this past spring.

Here is what I need you to hear.

This is not what I had to endure. This is what I got to endure. It is all part of obedience. It is all a part of expanding the Kingdom. The roach and the rice and the rash and the rewearing, the 3am and the missed driver's license and the 60 hour flight home. It is hard. Don't get me wrong, it is so very hard. But oh, it is glorious too.

What I also fail to post are the tears. Also known in my book as the rewards. Not only the tears about being away from my family. The ones I shed with the people I am on mission with. The ones we share in a circle on a dirt floor, in a stairwell, in the back of a van. Some things I have found are so sacred I keep them close to my heart.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 2 Corinthians 4:7.

The jars of clay are the cracked, jet lagged, half showered, bug bitten, exhausted vessels we bring to the field. The treasure is what He does anyway. Through us. In us. Often in the moments no one will ever see.

This is what the mission field actually looks like. And the parts I don't post, they are just as glorious as the rest.

Maybe more.