"H appy Birthday to you happy birthday to you…!” my family choruses as they present me with a creamy bakery birthday cake.

They set it down on the table in front of me, and the frosting looks up to meet the expected glint in my eye and gleeful smile. But when I look up into the mirror in our dining room, the smile is strained, and my eyes carry no excitement. I glance back down at the cake: A curlicue of cream announces my age. I slip the knife through the softness and can’t hold back the slight grimace.

I don’t want to thwart the efforts to make me feel good on my birthday. And really, what did I want my family to do — ignore my birthday entirely? Not buy a cake and thus abandon family tradition? That would feel even worse.

I pass the first plate to my father. To my father, not my husband. Because I don’t have a husband. Yet. (That last word is there for my father; he would put it in if I didn’t.) I really wish I could be sharing this birthday cake with my husband. Just the two of us. In our own apartment. We would slice off just two pieces and eat leisurely, sharing a joke…

I continue cutting, slipping pieces onto plates, passing out the portions. When everyone has received a slice, I pick up my fork and take a piece of my own slice. It’s creamy and gooey, just the way I like it, but right now, it tastes both sickeningly sweet and bitter. I reach for a glass of water and take a gulp.

In my head, I hear that niggling, be-a-good-girl-and-eat-your-vegetables voice speak up. Stop it! Stop thinking so negatively! You’re making yourself feel miserable. Just feel grateful for all the good you have and stop dwelling on what you don’t have! It works. For about a minute.

I think of my married friends. I wonder what they think about on their birthdays. They probably exchange sentiments with their spouses, something like, “Last year, Moishele wasn’t even born yet!” or “Last year, Shira wasn’t even talking yet, and now she’s singing ‘Happy bir-day to Ima!’ ” But I don’t have such milestones to celebrate, because nothing much has happened since last year.

The party is over, the table cleared. I think a bit harder. I’ve gone through every hurtful, painful thought, and I’m ready now to analyze things carefully and think positively. I wonder for a minute, what is a birthday? Of course, it’s a day that’s all about you and when you were born, and you have cake. And maybe presents. But what kind of day is it in the spiritual world?

A birthday, I realize, is an opportunity for reflection. How have I used my life circumstances and faculties to serve Hashem over the past year? Which mitzvos did I have the zechus to perform? And with that in mind, I can daven for more opportunities in the year ahead.

Having redefined the idea of a birthday, I think about the past year. It was filled with situations I never would have predicted in my wildest dreams. Every step of every attempted shidduch, and how each turned out. And how I looked up to Hashem after each experience, thinking why but working toward how. How would You like me to react? How can I see Your Hand in this one?

I think of the tears. The tears of connection with the One Who shows me time and again that only He can fully understand me. I think of the students I’ve taught and given my all into helping, because, well, I don’t have to split my “all” with anyone else. I think of the favors I’ve been able to do — the rides I gave, the attention I lavished on siblings and nieces and nephews. I think of the words of chizuk I’ve spoken throughout the last year, to fellow single friends, to married friends working through their own challenges, to my siblings, even my parents.

So much has been achieved this year. It may not have been filled with milestones, but my birthday does bear testimony that I’ve used a year in This World to the fullest.

The leftover cake nestles in the fridge. I open the door, reach for the container, and cut myself a slice. I take a bite and savor the taste: cake, cream, fruit.

Yes, I have dreams of how I’d like to be celebrating my birthday, but I know that Hashem’s dreams for me might be different. And greater than my desire to be married is my desire to fulfill His Will. This past year, I have fulfilled His wishes for me. And so, in an even truer sort of way, my strongest wish has been granted.

No matter the age piped on with frosting, birthday cake is always sweet.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 525)