You Can’t Make Liquor With Him

Growing up in Southwest Virginia, my father would sometimes take me with him to visit people he knew. After we left, I might say, “I liked him. He was a nice guy.”

He would respond with something that puzzled me for years:

“I like him too… but you can’t make liquor with him.”

Where I grew up, that meant something.

My grandfathers were part of a generation where moonshine was common. Those men didn’t get caught because they couldn’t make good liquor discreetly. They got caught because they trusted someone who talked too freely.

Loose lips.

It took me years to understand what my father was teaching me.

Some people are pleasant.
Some people are even “good.”

But they cannot guard what is entrusted to them.

And if a person cannot keep a confidence, trust never reaches 100%.

We often treat trust as if it’s simple.

“Do you trust him or her?”

Yes.
No.
I’m not sure.

I had coffee recently with a colleague who asked a question that stuck with me:

When we answer “yes” to that question, how much do we really trust them?

100%?
50%?
85%?

Does the percentage change under pressure?

We all have people we would trust with our life. Why? Because they have earned it. That level of trust was revealed over time.

There are people we trust with projects.
People we trust with limited information.
People we enjoy — but keep a layer between us.

And yet when we confide in someone, we don’t expect 50% trust.

We expect 100%.

That assumption is where many fractured personal and professional relationships begin — full access without full discernment.

Every interaction either strengthens trust… or weakens it.

One of the fastest ways to weaken it?

• Talking about someone who isn’t in the room.

• Repeating something shared in confidence.

• Venting under the banner of “just being honest.”

If you do it with me, you will do it about me.

People may never say it aloud. But they adjust how much they trust you.

Scripture is direct:

“Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets, but he who is trustworthy in spirit keeps a thing covered.” (Proverbs 11:13)

“Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets; therefore do not associate with a simple babbler.” (Proverbs 20:19)

These are not soft warnings.

They are clear.

There is an important distinction.

Keeping a confidence does not mean covering wrongdoing.

Years ago, a co-worker asked me, “Can I trust you with something? But you must promise to keep it confidential.”

My response was simple:

“That depends on what you tell me.”

If what is shared is illegal, immoral, unethical, or a violation of policy, it will be addressed. Immediately.

Leadership is not secrecy. It is stewardship.

Sometimes when you refuse to bend the truth — when you refuse to lie for someone — you’ll hear:

“I thought we were friends.”
“I thought I could trust you.”

But often what that really means is:

“I thought you would protect me.”

That is not trust. That is loyalty without integrity.

Trust may be rebuilt over time — but access is earned.

My father also used to say people get bit by snakes they don’t see, not the ones they do.

If someone talks too freely, believe them.

Trust is not built through declarations. It is built through restraint.

It is built when your yes stays yes.
When your no stays no.
When you refuse to repeat what is not yours to share.
When you protect someone’s dignity outside of their presence.

Before we question who we can trust, it might be more productive to ask:

Why can they trust me?

Trust is built quietly.

And broken the same way.