The clock is ticking. As we approach the single digit days before the election, I find my stomach clenching, my hands curling into tight little balls, my brows furrowed. I’ve started having flash backs to November 8th, 2016. Something in me broke that day. As a mildly left-of-center Midwesterner who had a son working for the 44th President, I felt like a stranger in a strange land in my very own USA. I was flummoxed by the choice of so many of my fellow citizens, and even among a majority of my sister and brother Saints. I still hold to the Church’s proclaimed stance as non-partisan and international, but an…