When you are preparing to welcome a child into the world, planning becomes a form of comfort. Appointments are scheduled, lists are checked, and a birth plan is carefully discussed with medical providers. You imagine who will be in the room, how the day will unfold, and the role you will play when the moment finally arrives.

Sometimes, though, even the most meaningful plans do not survive reality.

This week, I was supposed to be at the hospital, watching my daughter labor, holding her hand, and offering the quiet reassurance that only a mother can give. Instead, I was at home, isolated with Covid, doing the hardest thing of all, waiting.

My connection to the experience came through text messages. Updates would arrive, hopeful one moment, uncertain the next, followed by long stretches of silence. Anyone who has lived through waiting knows that silence can be louder than words. The unknowing is terrifying. You replay every possible scenario in your mind and realize just how little control you actually have.

All I could do was trust.

Trust the doctors and nurses who had guided her this far. Trust the process. Trust that God, who had already carried them through nine months, was not about to abandon them now.

My daughter labored all day. Her baby girl seemed content to stay exactly where she was. When fetal tracing began to show distress and other interventions were unsuccessful, the delivery team made the decision to move to an emergency C-section. It was not the birth plan my daughter had envisioned, especially for someone who is afraid of needles and medical procedures.

But she adapted.

She faced her fear without resistance. She trusted the people around her. She leaned into the support of her boyfriend and life partner, who was able to be there when I could not. The plan changed, but the purpose did not. She was rewarded with a beautiful daughter, and a strength she may not have realized she possessed.

That experience mirrors so many areas of adult life.

We plan for stability and face job insecurity. We assume consistency and encounter financial strain without emergency savings. In business, a supplier disappears, a marketplace bans your account, or your reach vanishes overnight thanks to an algorithm you do not control. The emotional response is the same as it is in that hospital waiting room, fear, frustration, and the urge to fight reality.

The lesson is not to abandon planning. The lesson is to remain malleable.

Adaptability is not giving up. It is recalibrating. It is the ability to assess what is actually happening, rather than clinging to what you hoped would happen. The people who endure are not the ones with perfect plans; they are the ones who can adjust without losing their footing.

This is why end-of-year reflection matters.

Consider it your Q4 performance review. Not an exercise in regret, but an honest assessment. Take stock of your personal life, your home, your finances, and your business systems. Measure what worked against what drained you. Evaluate what aligned with your values and what quietly eroded your peace.

Then compare it to your resolution blueprint for 2026.

What goals still make sense?
What needs refining?
What safeguards need to be built so the next disruption does not leave you exposed?

Reflection, paired with intention, becomes a roadmap. It allows you to move into the second half of the 2020s with clarity instead of chaos.

This Wisdom Wednesday is about accepting that you cannot control every outcome, or even be present for every moment you wish you could. Sometimes, all you can do is trust, adapt, and move forward with faith.

Plans may change. Purpose endures.