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An Inspired Chat with LaDray Gilbert JD of South Metro Atlanta

We recently had the chance to connect with LaDray Gilbert JD and have shared our conversation below.

Good morning LaDray, we’re so happy to have you here with us and we’d love to explore your story and how you think about life and legacy and so much more. So let’s start with a question we often ask: Are you walking a path—or wandering?
I am walking a path — one divinely designed, strategically refined, and intentionally paved through both victory and adversity. My journey hasn’t been a straight line; it’s been a series of defining moments that tested my resolve and clarified my calling. I’ve faced closed doors that turned into classrooms and disappointments that became divine direction. Each challenge refined my leadership, strengthened my faith, and revealed that I wasn’t created to simply go through life — I was created to build within it.

Today, I walk with precision and purpose. Every step is rooted in strategy, guided by faith, and driven by the vision to construct systems and institutions that will long outlive me. I’m not wandering — I’m walking a path that leads to legacy.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
During deep spiritual exploration, I found that, before I entered this realm, God whispered a command into my spirit: “Lead, build, and restore.” Those three words became the foundation of my life’s work. I am LaDray B. Gilbert, JD, Founder and Principal Consultant of Old United Logistics, LLC, where we specialize in political and legal strategy, nonprofit development, and community transformation. But before the firm, before the accolades, there was a man who had to be rebuilt from the inside out.

My journey has been a masterclass in resilience — not the kind that looks glamorous on social media, but the kind that comes from losing almost everything and choosing to rise again. I’ve walked through rejection, public scrutiny, financial hardship, and personal heartbreak. I’ve had doors slammed in my face that I was qualified to walk through. But in the process, I learned that sometimes God closes the door not to deny you — but to redefine you.

When I stepped away from law, it wasn’t a fall; it was a recalibration. I had to strip away the titles and achievements until all that remained was purpose. I rebuilt myself brick by brick — spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and professionally — not to prove anything to the world, but to fulfill the promise God whispered before I was born. That process taught me how to lead from authenticity, serve from humility, and build from alignment.

Today, Old United Logistics isn’t just a consulting firm — it’s a movement rooted in restoration. We help leaders, organizations, and communities find clarity in chaos and strategy in struggle. My life and brand stand as living proof that resilience is not about bouncing back; it’s about becoming unbreakable.

Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What part of you has served its purpose and must now be released?
The part of me that once sought validation from others has served its purpose. I’ve sat at tables with powerful people — individuals who tried to convince me to operate through their vision for my life. And for a time, I thought compromise was the cost of opportunity. But purpose has a way of calling louder than applause. Eventually, I realized that no amount of access is worth your anointing.

So, I walked away. Even when it meant stepping into the darkness of uncertainty. I’d rather leap off the mountain of the unknown and find my wings on the way down than spend one more 24-hour period suffocating under the weight of someone else’s limitations. That decision wasn’t easy — it required faith forged in fire. But I had to learn to walk in complete trust that my purpose, calling, and destiny were ordained by God Himself.

Romans 8:28–30 reminds me that all things work together for good — even the setbacks, even the silence, even the seasons of rebuilding. And Romans 3:1–4 anchors me in the truth that no man’s opinion can override what God has ordained. So, I released the part of me that needed human approval to validate divine assignment.

Now, I move with peace, clarity, and confidence — knowing that my alignment with God’s plan is stronger than any endorsement, louder than any doubt, and longer lasting than any platform

What’s something you changed your mind about after failing hard?
Suffering taught me the language of authenticity. Success will make people clap for you, but suffering teaches you how to stand when the applause fades. Success reveals your image; suffering reveals your identity. It taught me that wisdom isn’t earned through victory — it’s extracted through pain.

There was a time when I equated success with arrival — titles, positions, visibility. But suffering stripped me of all that and forced me to meet myself without the spotlight. It taught me that peace isn’t the absence of storms; it’s the ability to build while it’s raining. It taught me to trust the silence between chapters and to respect the process of becoming.

When I look back, the seasons that broke me were the same ones that built me. They gave me clarity, empathy, and endurance — qualities no victory could ever teach. They taught me that God doesn’t waste pain; He repurposes it. Through suffering, I learned how to lead not just with authority, but with understanding.

Now, when I walk into boardrooms, classrooms, or community centers, I bring both the intellect of Harvard and the heartbeat of Howard — the mind of a strategist, and the soul of a servant. Because suffering didn’t just teach me how to rise — it taught me how to remain grounded when I do.

The hardest failures of my life forced me to change my mind about control. I used to believe I could strategize my way through every season. But there are some storms you can’t outthink — only outlast. When I fell hard, God reminded me that failure isn’t final; it’s formative. It taught me that peace isn’t found in perfection, but in surrender. I stopped trying to prove myself to people and started aligning myself with purpose. That shift in mindset — from proving to producing — changed everything.

The defining wounds of my life have been tied to betrayal, loss, and misunderstanding. I’ve been misjudged, underestimated, and written off by people who only saw the chapter they walked in on. I’ve buried loved ones, walked away from positions I once prayed for, and stood in rooms where I felt completely unseen. Those moments cut deep, but they carved character. Healing didn’t come from pretending I was fine; it came from facing the pain, forgiving what hurt me, and allowing God to reframe the narrative.

Through that process, I learned that you can’t become who you’re destined to be while holding on to who you used to be. My wounds became my wisdom. My failures became my foundation. And my suffering became my sanctuary — the place where I stopped chasing validation and started walking in divine alignment.

Now, I don’t measure success by what I accumulate; I measure it by what I endure and still manage to build. Suffering taught me compassion. Failure taught me humility. And healing taught me how to lead with love — the kind of love that transforms people, systems, and generations.

Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
The belief I’m most committed to — no matter how long it takes — is that legacy is the true measure of leadership. Titles fade, positions change, and applause quiets, but legacy is eternal. I’m building something that doesn’t just outlive me — it outlasts time. My project is people. My assignment is infrastructure. And my mission is impact.

I’ve learned that what you build for yourself dies with you, but what you build for others becomes your echo in the earth. That’s why I’m unwavering in my commitment to developing sustainable systems — in law, politics, and community — that uplift generations long after my name is spoken. Whether it’s through Old United Logistics, Mirror 100, or Community Wellness Day, every initiative is an extension of that same belief: to empower people to move from survival to strategy, from dependency to dominion.

There are certain truths I rarely articulate because they are the bones of my being. One of them is this — I was not created to blend in; I was created to build differently. Romans 8:28–30 reminds me that everything — the triumphs and the trials — are all working together for my good. I’ve stopped questioning God’s timing and started trusting His process. Purpose doesn’t expire.

And the cultural value I protect at all costs is integrity. In a world obsessed with optics, I remain devoted to authenticity. I don’t chase moments; I cultivate movements. I don’t imitate; I innovate. I refuse to compromise moral clarity for material comfort. The culture I build — in every room I enter — must reflect excellence, accountability, and honor.

So whether it takes five years or fifty, I’m committed to the vision. I’ll keep laying bricks of impact until the blueprint becomes a monument. Because when God gives you a mission, time isn’t your enemy — it’s your ally.

Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. Are you doing what you were born to do—or what you were told to do?
I’m doing what I was born to do — not what I was told to do.

What I was told to do was follow the traditional path: build a résumé, play it safe, and chase stability. But what I was born to do was shift culture, challenge systems, and build institutions that empower generations. I was created to merge law, leadership, and legacy — not just to fit inside systems, but to reimagine them.

As a College Vice President and Professor, I stand in classrooms and boardrooms carrying the same mission — to awaken purpose, ignite strategy, and model what divine alignment looks like in real time. I teach leadership not as theory, but as testimony. I lead not from title, but from truth.

There came a moment in my journey when I realized I had to stop living according to other people’s expectations. I had to step out of the script and into my assignment. Being told what to do gave me direction — but being born to do something gave me destiny. I’ve learned that when you operate in divine calling, your life becomes a curriculum for others to study.

Every endeavor I lead — from Old United Logistics to the Community Wellness Day to the Mirror 100 Mentoring Initiative — flows from that same conviction: purpose is louder than permission. I don’t move because man told me to; I move because Heaven designed me to.

So yes — I am doing what I was born to do. I was born to lead, to build, to teach, and to restore. I was born to remind this generation that true purpose doesn’t require validation — only vision, faith, and obedience.

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