Trust is a matter of integrity.

Integrity is not morality.

Morality is false on a large scale, true only individually—morality is a specification built of preferences, frequently violated by reality. The universe runs on laws in operation beyond what humans deem as “good.”

Integrity is a structural term. Integrity is always ballasted by and accountable to specifications.

A bridge doesn’t simply “have” or “not have” integrity. It has integrity to specifications which are accountable to real factors in the world. A bridge which has integrity for cars may not have integrity for high winds or for humans marching in step.

Real world disasters occur when things which have integrity to specifications are exposed to forces outside of those specifications.

If we believe in moral goodness in relational terms, often called “common decency,” we have specifications for relationship which have nothing to do with the individual connections that arrive in our lives.

If we believe in “community” or “partnership” or “friendship” as a set of nominal cohesions—“community shows up when it’s hard,” “a partner is someone I live with and share a bed with,” “friends talk every day,” then we find ourselves in frequent wars with the actual humans or circumstances of life. We experience regular betrayals of trust and wonder if anything will ever prove trustworthy in the end.

When I applied a practice of integrity as a facet of devotional relationship, I came to trust based on specifications. I trust in nuanced ways, I trust based on provable integrity in the relational system, most of all my own. My integrity is my durability to the rigors of the situations I walk myself into.

I do not need to define close relationship as “the place where I am never frustrated, uncomfortable, or lonely.” I only need to be clear in my integrity to the specification of my emotions.

I am durable to feelings of frustration, discomfort, and loneliness; I can still trust my relationships while these feelings arise because I can trust MYSELF while these feelings arise. These are the cars and winds I built the bridge to withstand. I don’t panic when it’s windy or when there’s lots of traffic. I don’t reassess the bridge every rush hour.

I do not need to leap to external conditions that “prove” or “perform” close relationship, like daily calls, moving in together, sharing a bed, sharing finances, meeting family, because I am not testing these as metrics of trust and integrity for the connection. I’m not looking to see if a connection fits a mold of my desires, I’m looking to see *what exactly* this connection offers.

I trust in nuanced ways. I form expectations in nuanced ways. My love is accountable for and to all of the conditions and rigors of the context and the individual and the context that individual contributes to my life.

I trust that one guy to be at least ten minutes late, scattered and confused. I trust that other guy to be analyzing me based on whack premises. I trust that friend to reschedule a million times and trust that when she does show up, she is coming from radiant delight. I trust THAT guy to text me before I have a chance to wonder when I’ll hear from him and I trust I’ll see his headlights in my driveway at *exactly* the moment he said he would arrive.

It is infrequent that I experience a betrayal of this kind of trust. Trust which is specific and accountable, trust which is founded in the intimate integrity of a now-moment, rarely lands me flat on my ass.

And when it does, can I prove there is ANY way I might have remained standing in the wake of a devastating event?

No, the bridge isn’t guaranteed to withstand a flood or an earthquake. But it holds the cars and humans and weathers the winds, and that’s the most I could ask of such a structure.