Reading 'Good Apple' felt like crashing on Elizabeth's NYC couch with a bottomless coffee pot—equal parts hilarious and heart-squeezing. Her stories about subway flashers and mom guilt had me snort-laughing, but then she'd pivot to raw faith struggles that made me pause mid-sip.

As someone who’s navigated big-city loneliness, her chapter on befriending bodega cats resonated HARD. The way she describes Jesus feeling just as present in her tiny apartment as in megachurches? Unexpectedly comforting for my own spiritual wobbles.

Warning: You'll ugly-cry during the 'Sunday School Potluck vs. Park Slope Brunch' cultural whiplash tales. Her writing nails that Southern evangelical cadence—I kept hearing drawled 'bless your heart' subtext even when she's describing Manhattan chaos.

Skip if you want pristine theology; this is faith with stretch marks. But for anyone who’s ever felt too Christian for liberals yet too liberal for church folks? Elizabeth’s your new book-bestie.